


if we bite (the pain is sweet)

by shellybelle



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Casual Sex, Derek "Nursey" Nurse is Unchill, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Under-negotiated Kink, William "Dex" Poindexter has a thing about control, but everyone gets their shit together eventually, in the form of college boys with no clue what they're doing, kink compatibility is a great thing once you figure it out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-08-19 21:30:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 57,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8225350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shellybelle/pseuds/shellybelle
Summary: After two and a half semesters at Samwell, Dex has gotten used to people handling their stress in weird ways. Bitty bakes up a storm, Lardo is constantly covered in what Dex really, really hopes is paint, Ransom turns into a curled-up ball of anxiety on the nearest flat surface. He gets it: people are just weird here.That doesn’t mean he doesn’t choke on his Red Bull when Nursey sighs, “God, I’m so tense right now. I just really need to suck a dick, y’know?”(Or: five times Dex and Nursey really don’t quite know what they’re doing, and one time they’ve really, really figured it out.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There is. Uh. Kind of a lot of smut in this?
> 
> I feel like I should apologize, but I'm not gonna.

 

“Then my hands go to sink into your hair, to cherish slowly the depth of your hair while we kiss as if our mouths were filled with flowers or with fish, with lively moments and dark fragrance. And **if** **we bite each other the pain is sweet** , and if we smother each other in a brief and terrible sucking in together of our breaths, that momentary death is beautiful.”  
(Julio Cortázar, _Hopscotch_ )

 

  

After two and a half semesters at Samwell, Dex has gotten used to people handling their stress in weird ways. Bitty bakes up a storm, Lardo is constantly covered in what Dex really, _really_ hopes is paint, Ransom turns into a curled-up ball of anxiety on the nearest flat surface. He gets it: people are just weird here.

 

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t choke on his Red Bull when Nursey sighs, “God, I’m so tense right now. I just really need to suck a dick, y’know?”

 

They’ve spent most of the day hanging out in Dex’s room, the afternoon sun slanting in through the half-closed blinds. Dex is at his desk, working on the midterm paper for his bullshit English class (he hates Gen Eds, he hates Gen Eds, he hates Gen Eds _so much_ ), and Nursey’s sprawled on Dex’s bed, surrounded by books and poking grumpily at his laptop. His suitemates are out, and Nursey’s weird indie music is spilling out of his phone speakers, because Dex lost the coin toss and then the resulting wrestling match. Midterms suck balls, but today has actually been going okay.

 

Except that now, Dex is pretty sure he has Red Bull _in his lungs_ , and he’s sputtering and choking while Nursey, cackling, rolls off his bed and thumps him on the back. “Jesus, Poindexter, _chill_.”

 

“ _You_ chill,” Dex wheezes. Nursey laughs and hands him his water bottle, and Dex swigs down a few sips, trying to clear his windpipe. “What the _shit_ , man, you can’t just say that.”

 

Nursey shrugs, grinning, and sits back on Dex’s bed. “Say what?”

 

Dex rolls his eyes, and pitches his voice into what he knows is a terrible imitation of Nursey’s. “‘I just need to suck a dick,’ bro? _Really_?”

 

“Hey, we’ve all got our stress relief.” Nursey flops back onto Dex’s pillows. It jostles his MacBook, but Nursey doesn’t seem to notice.

 

Dex looks distrustfully at his Red Bull, then at the outline for his English paper, and shrugs, picking up the can again. He needs to write this piece of shit somehow. “Yeah, but like...Don’t you mean, uh, have someone suck yours?”

 

Nursey arches one eyebrow, slowly enough that Dex is one hundred percent sure he’s doing it just to fuck with Dex. “No,” he says. “I said what I meant.”

 

Dex stares at him, trying, really, _really_ trying, not to picture Nursey’s mouth stretched around-- _nope_ , let’s not go there. He clears his throat. “I literally cannot think of a single thing less relaxing than having a dick in my mouth.”

 

One corner of Nursey’s mouth quirks up in a smirk. “Don’t knock it til you’ve tried it, bro.”

 

Yeah, _well_ , Dex thinks, hiding what definitely has the potential to be a super awkward face behind a sip from his mostly-empty can...about that _trying it_ thing.

 

He sort of already has.

 

He knows that there’s no way Nursey knows about Dex’s hookup with one of the forwards from the Samwell Men’s Soccer team in Jack and Shitty’s bathroom in the Haus. He knows Nursey doesn’t know about it, because A: Nursey would _definitely_ have chirped him to hell and back for barely being able to get the head of Tyler’s dick into his mouth before he freaked out and gave him a probably-shitty handjob instead, and B: Nursey told him like a week ago that he was not super interested in Dex’s Straight Cis White Guy opinion about trans bathroom bills in North Carolina, which is a pretty good indicator that he doesn’t know Dex has touched a dick other than his own. Nursey definitely, definitely doesn’t know.

 

Still, it takes significant effort to keep his expression flat. “I’m good, I think,” he says, which is...mostly true. He doesn’t have anything _against_ giving the whole blowjob thing another shot. Maybe when he’s more sober, not in a dirty frat bathroom, and not hooking up with a guy he’s mostly sure didn’t know his name. He shakes his head. “Weird fucking stress relief method.”

 

Nursey grins lazily at him, sitting up and pulling his computer into his lap. “Hey, I don’t knock your carpentry tutorials.”

 

“That was _one time_ ,” Dex retorts. Granted, the chirping had been off the charts. He maybe deserved it for spending six hours watching YouTube videos on different sanding tools. _Whatever_. He likes working with his hands.

 

“Chill, brah.” Nursey shrugs, picking up one of his books and flipping to a bright pink sticky note. (Dex doesn’t even understand what Nursey’s paper is about--it’s for his Gender Performativity in Literature class, and Nursey’s explanation had just confused him more. “ _As You Like It_ , bro,” he’d said, eyes glued on his screen. “So many fucking layers of drag. _So many layers_.”) “It just mellows me out, alright? It’s whatever.”

 

Dex raises his eyebrows. “Sucking dick?”

 

He knows it’s not really his business, but he’s weirdly fascinated by how open and casual Nursey is about his sexuality. Nursey never really came out to the team officially--he just drops male and non-binary pronouns easily when he talks about his partners, gives deets about dudes with the same easy roll of his shoulders and self-satisfied smirk that he gives them about girls. Dex can’t quite decide if he’s jealous of his comfort in who he is and who he likes, or just admires his confidence.

 

He’s almost man enough to admit that it might be a bit of both.

 

Nursey glances up from his computer screen. “You really want to know?”

 

Dex shrugs one shoulder. “Good to know how your d-man ticks, right?”

 

It’s so transparent, but Nursey’s either too distracted by his paper to notice, or is just willing to let Dex get away with it. “Yeah, alright.” He closes the book again, puts it on Dex’s desk, looking thoughtfully at him. “I guess it’s about turning my brain off,” he says after a moment. “Y’know, you’ve just got an objective that you’re going for, and you don’t have to think about it. And it’s a lot of sensation, so there’s that, too.” His eyes glint. “Hard to think too much when your mouth is full and someone’s got their hands in your hair and--”

 

“Okay, I get it,” Dex interrupts, ears heating up, and Nursey laughs.

 

“What, c’mon, you don’t get the same thing eating pussy?”

 

Dex flushes. He’d had a serious girlfriend in high school, and yeah, that had topped one of his favorite activities, but it hadn’t exactly turned his brain _off_. “Not exactly,” he says. “I was definitely still, uh, thinking.”

 

Worrying, mostly, that he wasn’t doing a good job. Not that Mels had ever given him reason to believe that, but Dex doesn’t need Nursey’s chirps to let him know that he’s got an inferiority complex a mile wide.

 

Nursey just shrugs, though. “Maybe it’s just my thing, then,” he says. Then he grins. “I mean, it’s no _Finer Arts of Maplewood Sanding_ , but--”

 

Dex groans. “I swear to god, bro.”

 

“Alright, alright.” Nursey picks up his book again. “Write your fucking paper, dude. If you want me to edit a draft before I leave tonight, you need to get that shit done.”

 

Dex makes a face, but turns back to his outline.

 

They work in relative silence for another hour or so. Nursey’s playlist ends, and Dex starts to put on one of his, but takes pity on Nursey’s delicate hipster sensibilities and goes with Frank Ocean instead of his usual 70s rock. He finishes his outline and starts on a first draft of his paper, even though it’s slow going because he hasn’t written a real essay since his First Year Seminar last year. Every now and then he glances at Nursey, who’s gone back to sprawling on Dex’s bed, his brow furrowed as his fingers move rapidly over his keyboard, pausing only to look something up from one of his sticky-noted books or Google something.

 

It would be impressive, if it weren’t so obnoxious. Dex knows for a fact that Nursey took his mandatory quantitative reasoning class spring semester last year and aced it. Fucking unfair, he thinks, managing another paragraph. If Nursey’s gonna be good with words, numbers should fuck him up. It’s balance in the universe. That’s just how it works.

 

Around five, Nursey makes a frustrated sound and lets his head flop down into his arms. “Fuck it,” he says, half-muffled into Dex’s comforter, and then sits up.

 

Dex glances at him. “You okay?”

 

Nursey takes his beanie off and pushes a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I’m just too fucking stressed to concentrate on this anymore.” He reaches down to his backpack, sitting on Dex’s floor, and hauls it onto the bed to start shoving his books into it.

 

 _Shoving_ ’s a strong word. He’s actually weirdly gentle with them. It shouldn’t be endearing.

 

“You wanna get some dinner or something?” Dex rolls his shoulders back, then his neck. He has horrible computer posture. “It’s almost a normal time.”

 

“Nah.” Nursey closes his laptop and pushes that into his bag as well, then zips it closed. “I’m gonna see if I can bum some weed off Lardo. I need to chill the fuck out, and that’s my next favorite de-stressor.” He waggles his eyebrows, then gets to his feet. “But email me your paper later, alright? I’ll still look it over for you.”

 

“Thanks.” Dex allows himself a flicker of relief that Nursey didn’t ask him to go smoke up with Lardo. He likes drinking, but weed’s not his thing, and Lardo tends to hotbox her room until anyone in the vicinity ends up with a contact high.

 

Nursey gives him a thumbs up. “Chill,” he says. “Later, bro.”

 

“Later,” Dex echoes.

 

And then he has a fucking stroke or something, because before he can even think about it, he blurts out, “Or--”

 

Nursey stops dead in the doorway, and then, very slowly, turns back around. “Uh,” he says. “Or what?”

 

He did not think this through. He did not think this through. He did not think this--Dex leans back in his desk chair, faking casual. “I mean,” he says, going for chill. “I’ve got a dick?”

 

Nursey stares at him. Dex stares back, trying to pretend that his entire face isn’t burning. Nursey’s expression is totally blank, and Dex can’t tell if he’s pissed, confused, or about to make fun of Dex for the rest of his life for his _total lack of game_ , what the fuck, what was he thinking.

 

Before Dex can backpedal, though, Nursey says, “Are you fucking with me right now, or are you serious?”

 

Dex’s entire face is on fire. “Serious?” he tries. Nursey narrows his eyes slightly, and Dex shrugs. “I mean, y’know. Giving blowjobs relaxes you. Getting blowjobs relaxes me. Seems like a win-win?”

 

Nursey opens his mouth, and then closes it. “I thought you were straight?”

 

 _Eh, mostly_ seems like the wrong response here. Dex shrugs again, and gestures at Nursey’s whole...person. “Maybe, but I’m not fucking _blind_.”

 

Which is true. Even when Dex first got to Samwell and was pretty sure that he _was_ totally straight, Nursey was...well, the asshole looks like a fucking model, there’s no denying that. And standing in Dex’s doorway, his curls tousled under his beanie from where he’s run his hands through them too many times, his well-worn grey henley stretched across his shoulders, skinny jeans hugging his hips…

 

Yeah. He’s not blind.

 

Nursey’s still eyeing him like he’s waiting for Dex to pull the rug out from under him. “If you’re fucking with me, this is a seriously dick move, even for you,” he says. “Like, grade-A asshole move. You know that, right?”

 

Dex holds up both hands. “Genuine fucking offer, dude, I swear.”

 

Nursey looks at him for a moment longer, then shrugs. “Yeah, alright, chill.” He steps back into Dex’s room and closes the door. “You guys got a system or something? Tie on the doorknob?”

 

“Nah,” Dex says. What the fuck is happening. What is he doing. His brain is torn between screaming at him and doing _gonna get laid_ happy-flips, because even his own head has no fucking chill. “None of us get laid enough for that.”

 

Nursey snorts and puts his backpack down. “Computer nerds. Y’all are too fucking cute.”

 

“That’s a shot,” Dex says automatically.

 

“Fair,” Nursey agrees, taking his beanie off and tossing it onto Dex’s bed. “Bed or chair, bro?”

 

Dex saves his Word document--he’s a Computer Engineering major with trust issues, okay, sue him--and gets to his feet. “Bed’s more comfortable,” he says.

 

“Same to me either way.” Nursey shrugs. He starts rolling his sleeves up to his forearms. “Take your pants off.”

 

“No fucking romance,” Dex chirps, and Nursey flutters his eyelashes and blows him a kiss. Dex rolls his eyes and reaches for his own belt, shucking his jeans and putting them on his desk chair. He leaves his boxers on and plops down on his bed. “You want me to grab a condom?”

 

He’s kind of proud for how nonchalant he says it, but Nursey’s easy shrug knocks that out of him pretty quickly. “Up to you,” he says. “I get tested pretty often, and I’m clean. Not a huge taste-of-latex fan, so unless there’s something I should know, I don’t mind skipping them.”

 

Dex opens his mouth, and then snaps it closed. “Okay,” he says, like his brain hasn’t totally dissolved into static. “Yeah, that’s cool for me.”

 

“Cool,” Nursey says, finishing with his sleeves, the smooth brown skin of his wrists and forearms on display. There’s black ink scrawled across the inside of his right forearm from where he was scribbling earlier.

 

He’s still standing, Dex notes, fully dressed. Sitting on his bed in his boxers and half a hard-on suddenly feels kind of weird, and he motions to the bed next to him. “You wanna…”

 

“Nope,” Nursey says, popping the _p_ , and drops down to his knees in front of Dex. It’s more of a folding than a real drop, the movement so smooth and controlled that his knees don’t make a sound as they hit Dex’s carpet.

 

Dex, who has been kneeling in church since he was old enough to sit by himself in the pew and is _completely sure_ he has never once in his life been that graceful, stares at him. “Uh,” he manages. It almost comes out as a squeak. “You sure you don’t want to--uh--bed?”

 

“Nah,” Nursey murmurs. “I like it better on my knees.” He bends forward and drops a lazy kiss to Dex’s knee. Dex’s dick twitches in his shorts, and without thinking, Dex spreads his thighs a little so Nursey can move a little closer.

 

“You can’t just say shit like that,” Dex says. Nursey glances up at him and gives him a slow, lazy smile, kissing Dex’s inner thigh. Dex shivers. “Alright, fine, say whatever you want.” He flexes his hands in his comforter. “Anything I should know? Uh, for you?”

 

Nursey shakes his head. His shoulders have loosened, Dex realizes suddenly, as if just the act of going to his knees took some of the stress out of him. Dex...does not know what to do with that. “Not really. Don’t yank my hair, try not to choke me, warn me if you’re gonna come. Basic manners.” He looks up. “Anything I should know?”

 

“No teeth?” Dex offers.

 

Nursey chuckles, low and warm, his breath ghosting over Dex’s skin. “Noted,” he says. He skims his fingertips up Dex’s thigh, just under the leg of his boxers, his nails just brushing the base of Dex’s balls, and Dex clenches his jaw so he doesn’t do something totally embarrassing, like moan. “Can I suck you off now, or are we gonna keep chatting?”

 

Dex swallows, and then mentally smacks himself in the face. Do not, he thinks firmly, not sure if he’s talking to himself or his dick, think about swallowing. “Be my guest, bro,” he says.

 

One of Nursey’s eyebrows arches, just a delicate quirk, and for a second Dex is completely sure that Nursey’s gonna call him on his shit. But then he shrugs. “Cool,” he says, and flicks the button on Dex’s boxers, reaching a (thankfully warm) hand into Dex’s shorts to pull his dick out. Dex almost braces himself for a chirp--he’s always been more of a grower than a shower, and he’s only half-hard--but Nursey just hums and licks the head once before taking the entire thing into his mouth in one warm, easy motion, bending his head until his nose brushes Dex’s pubic hair.

 

Dex chokes out a noise he can’t really identify, staring down at Nursey’s curls as Nursey gently presses the flat of his tongue against the underside of Dex’s dick, holding it in his mouth while he hardens. “Holy shit, Nurse,” Dex breathes, and Nursey makes a soft, contented sound, his eyes fluttering closed. He has the thumb and forefinger of one hand wrapped around the base of Dex’s dick, just holding him steady, his other hand resting gently on Dex’s thigh.

 

It doesn’t take him long to get hard enough that Nursey can’t keep all of him in his mouth anymore, and Dex bites down on a groan as Nursey shifts his head back, hollowing his cheeks and dragging his tongue along the full length of Dex’s cock as he moves. “Holy shit,” Dex says again, a little breathier this time, looking at the shadows Nursey’s long lashes cast on his cheeks as he ducks down again, his eyes still closed, all smooth, hot suction.

 

Look. Dex knows--he knows there’s etiquette about this shit, that you’re not supposed to have someone in your bed and measure them against the other people who have been there. He knows that.

 

But he’d also bet every dollar in his bank account that everyone still does it. You can’t _not_. It’s just instinct. And maybe he’s only gotten blowjobs from three people in his life, but that doesn’t mean his brain hasn’t still kind of ranked them, even if the system probably is a little unfair to Mels, since they were each other’s firsts and neither of them really knew what they were doing when they started.

 

The point is this:

 

Derek Nurse has just blown (ha, he thinks, with the section of his brain that isn’t collapsing into mush) Dex’s unofficial blowjob ranking system _right the fuck out of the water_.

 

Maybe Dex should have figured out that Nursey was obviously gonna be into giving head when he literally said _it mellows me out_ , but this is just-- _fuck_. He’s smooth and practiced and attentive, and Dex has obviously heard the phrase _dick sucking lips_ before but hasn’t really given it much thought until right this moment, because holy fuck were Nursey’s lips made for this. He’s not quiet, either, soft sighs and quiet moans sending hums of sensation along Dex’s nerves.

 

When Nursey slips back enough to curl his tongue around the head of Dex’s dick and then do some kind of rolling motion against it, Dex gives up on staying quiet and chokes out, “ _Nursey_ , oh my God.”

 

Nursey hums around him, the vibrations curling down through Dex’s balls and up his spine, and Dex shudders, bringing one hand up to cup the back of Nursey’s head. He wants to thread his fingers through Nursey’s hair, but he’s not totally sure he could stop himself from pulling. Fingers shaking, he curls his hand around the back of his neck instead, brushing his thumb over Nursey’s skin and trying to get his breathing under control.

 

He is _amazed_ that he hasn’t come yet.

 

Another ragged groan gets past his bitten lips as Nursey swirls his tongue over him again and then sinks back down, all the way until his lips meet the hand he’s curled around the base of Dex’s dick, and Dex has to dig the fingers of his free hand into his comforter hard to keep from thrusting his hips up. “Fuck,” he bites out. “Fuck, Nursey, that’s--holy _shit_.”

 

Nursey makes a vaguely pleased sound, the thumb of the hand not wrapped around Dex’s cock rubbing gentle circles on his inner thigh, and looks up at Dex. His eyelashes are fucking _absurd_ and his pupils are blown wide, only the faintest ring of green visible around the black.

 

He looks _beautiful_ , and Dex has to bite his lip so hard he tastes copper to keep from saying that, because casual blowjobs between friends might be one thing, it’s Samwell, but calling your bro beautiful probably crosses a line.

 

“Fuck,” he says instead, which isn’t really eloquent, but it’s better than _beautiful_. “Nurse, _fuck_ , that’s so fucking good, oh my God.” Nursey makes another sound around him that’s definitely a moan, his eyes fluttering closed again, and Dex swears. “Holy shit, Nursey, Nursey, _fuck_.”

 

And shit, maybe he should have warned Nursey that the closer he gets to coming, the more he babbles, but Nursey just pulls off him, licks a line over the entirety of his dick from base to tip, until he’s slicker than he was before. Nursey sucks on the head with a quiet moan and then sinks back down with a sound that goes right to Dex’s balls, and just like that, he’s riding the edge. “Shit,” Dex hisses, and squeezes the back of Nursey’s neck in warning. “Nursey, Nursey, I’m--” He sucks in a breath, drops his hand down to Nursey’s shoulder and digs his fingers in, trying to make him get the point. “I’m gonna--”

 

Nursey just reaches up with his spare hand, takes Dex’s wrist, and puts Dex’s hand in his hair.

 

It’s a clear fucking signal, but-- “Fuck,” Dex bites out. “Fucking--really?”

 

Nursey makes a clearly affirming sound, his mouth hot and wet around him, not making any move to back off. Dex stares at him for a second, then groans out, “ _Fuck_ ,” and gives up, threading his fingers into Nursey’s curls and holding on for the ride. Nursey moans around his dick, his eyelashes flickering, and Dex loses it, coming so hard his toes curl and his hips jerk forward before he can hold himself still. Nursey doesn’t stop, just swallows around him, working his hand over the shaft while Dex shudders and gasps, and then just letting Dex go slowly soft in his mouth.

 

“Holy _fuck_ ,” Dex manages finally, forcing himself to loosen his grip on Nursey’s hair. “Just--holy shit, dude.”

 

“Mmhm,” Nursey hums, soft and content. His eyes are closed, and Dex’s dick is still in his mouth.

 

Dex watches him, still floating a little in the aftermath of orgasm, and realizes that he hadn’t really seen how tense Nursey was before, but holy _shit_ , he can see the difference now. All the lines of stress seem to have bled out of him, his shoulders loose and relaxed, one hand still tracing circles along Dex’s inner thigh.

 

The sensitivity gets to be too much after a minute or two, though, and Dex swallows, mouth dry, and works his hand out of Nursey’s curls. “Hey,” he says, a little hoarse. “Too much, bro.”

 

Nursey sits back on his heels, letting Dex’s cock slip out of his mouth, and opens his eyes. He looks almost like he does when he’s drunk, pleased and soft-featured, his green eyes hazy and pupils still wide. “Sorry,” he says. His voice is hoarse, and he smiles lazily up at Dex. His lips are red and swollen and Dex’s dick definitely twitches at the sight. “That was awesome, dude. I really fucking needed that.”

 

“Uh...You’re welcome, I guess?” Dex rolls his shoulders back and then tucks his junk away, not really sure what the protocol is here. Nursey’s definitely hard--his jeans don’t really hide that--but that wasn’t really the deal. Not that he wouldn’t-- “Do you want me to, uh…”

 

He trails off, cheeks warm, but Nursey shakes his head. “Nah, I’m cool,” he says. “You don’t need to.” He runs a hand through his hair and blinks a few times, and when he opens his eyes properly again, they’re a lot clearer. He smiles up at Dex, then pushes himself to his feet, stretching. He adjusts himself in his jeans, a quick, unselfconscious motion, and then plops down on Dex’s bed next to him, reaching down to tug his backpack closer to him. “I feel, like, so much better. Wanna do another hour of work and then grab dinner?”

 

Dex stares at him. Nursey’s already pulled out his MacBook and the copy of _As You Like It_ he’d been working off earlier. Dex is pretty sure he still can’t feel his toes and his head is still spinning from coming his brains out.

 

In his best friend’s mouth. Because apparently that’s a thing that just happened.

 

“Dude,” he says. “You are the weirdest fucking guy I know. You know that, right?”

 

Nursey glances up from his laptop, squints at him like he’s trying to figure out if Dex is pissed at him, and then grins. “Takes one to know one, Poindexter,” he says. “Put your pants on and write your shitty English paper, I wanna get stir-fry tonight.”

 

Dex rolls his eyes. “You always get stir-fry,” he says, but he gets to his feet, picking up his jeans from his desk chair and sliding back into them, booting his computer back up. He sits down and opens up the Word Document he’d saved earlier, making a face at the difference between his current page count and the required length, but sighs, opening his outline and pulling his book over.

 

“Don’t knock stir-fry,” Nursey says. “It’s good for you.” He pulls his phone out of his backpack. “I’m putting on music.”

 

“No Rihanna,” Dex says, almost absently.

 

“Fuck you, too,” Nursey says cheerfully, but he puts on a playlist of acoustic covers of R&B and hip-hop instead. Dex squints as what’s definitely TLC’s “No Scrubs” comes through the speakers, but he _did_ just get a pretty stellar blowjob, so he lets it go.

 

On a whim, after a few minutes of work, he glances over his shoulder at the bed. Nursey’s on his belly, his eyes soft and half-lidded as he works on his paper. As Dex watches, Nursey takes one hand off his keyboard and brushes his fingertips over his mouth, where his lips are still swollen from Dex’s dick, a slow, almost absent-minded motion.

 

Fuck, Dex thinks.

 

He’s in trouble.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Will Poindexter takes a little more control, and Derek Nurse realizes that his thing for submission maybe runs a little deeper than he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See the end notes for content warnings.

“Hey,” Dex says on their next roadie. “Can I ask you something?”

 

Derek picks his head up off the window, where he’s been half-dozing for the past half hour. His thighs are still throbbing a little from the game against Yale, and it feels like they’ve been on the bus for an eternity. He rubs his eyes and peers through the semi-darkness at Dex. “Sure,” he says. “Go for it.”

 

Dex hesitates. “It’s about your blowjob thing.”

 

“ _Dude_ ,” Derek hisses. “The fuck? Keep it down.”

 

Dex has the decency to look a little abashed, which--well, _good_. Derek’s not shy about his sexuality, but there’s a difference between being open about his partners and having his kinks blabbed on the bus. “Sorry,” Dex says, glancing over his shoulder. Pretty much everyone’s asleep, though, and Derek relaxes a little. Across the aisle from them, Ransom snuffles a little in his sleep and drops his head onto Holster’s shoulder. Holster doesn’t even stir.

 

“It’s cool, just…” Derek shoots another look around them, but settles back in his seat. “Y’know, context, bro.” Dex’s cheeks are bright red, the flush obvious even in the low light of the bus, and he feels a twinge of guilt. “Seriously, it’s fine. What do you want to know?”

 

It’s been a week since that first time in Dex’s room, when Derek’s stress had spiraled out of control and the long shot he’d taken by mentioning his less-conventional chilldown method had paid off big time. They’ve hooked up twice more since then--or at least, Derek’s called them hookups in his head, when he lets himself think about them.

 

Is it really a hookup if it’s just one bro sucking another bro’s dick?

 

Life’s big questions.

 

This is the first time Dex has ever said anything outside of the times when he’s had his dick in Derek’s mouth, though, so Derek’s not about to tell him to shut up. If he’s talking about it, then he’s _thinking_ about it, and that’s...good. Good, right?

 

He’s a fucking disaster. Midterms have finally killed his chill.

 

Dex is still flushing, though, so Derek drags his brain back to the present, toying with a loose string on the sleeve of his hoodie while he waits for Dex to talk. “Okay,” Dex says, finally. “So like...how do you not freak out when you’re doing it?”

 

Derek’s not sure what question he was _expecting_ , but that...wasn’t it. “I don’t know. I mean, I like it? Why would I freak out?” He narrows his eyes. “Dex, is this gonna be a queer thing?”

 

“ _No_ , I swear.” Dex shakes his head, his face so earnest that Derek relaxes a little more, even if he’s still confused as fuck. “I just…” He pauses, and scrunches his nose a little, the way he does when he’s trying to sort through too many years of backwater conservative bullshit to come up with a way to phrase things in a way that won’t piss someone off.

 

It’s still a fairly new expression. Derek finds it stupidly endearing.

 

“Okay, I guess I mean…” Dex takes a breath. “I would freak out if I was on my knees and someone had, like, all that leverage over me. Like, the dude could choke you, or something? Or not pull out if you wanted him to? And I guess I just don’t get how that doesn’t give you a million times more anxiety than whatever you’re stressing about.”

 

“I…” Derek frowns. “Huh.”

 

The actual logistics of what he likes and doesn’t like in bed aren’t something he usually thinks about, and it’s weird to be on the spot like this, but he lets himself ponder it for a minute--if Dex could get through the awkwardness of asking, Derek figures he should probably answer. “I guess...I kind of like giving up the control,” he says, slowly, still working out the thought as he speaks. “Not to--to, like, anyone. I’ve hooked up with people where I’ve wanted to have the leverage. But if there’s a good vibe, and I trust them…” He shrugs one shoulder. “I like it. Not having to think as much. Like I said, it clears my head.”

 

Dex stares at him. “You…” He trails off, and then seems to jostle himself. “Me?”

 

It takes a second for Derek to figure out what he means. He’s absurdly grateful that his skin doesn’t show flushes like Dex’s does. “Yeah, well,” he mutters. “I trust you on the ice, so.”

 

“So you trust me not to choke you on my dick?”

 

His voice is pitched low enough that Derek knows no one heard him, but he still swallows hard, looking down. Suddenly the idea of looking Dex in the face seems totally out of his comfort zone. “Yeah.”

 

Dex doesn’t respond for a long minute, and finally, Derek dares to glance back up at him. Dex is still staring, mouth open slightly. His ears are so red they’ve almost disappeared into his hair. Derek squirms a little under his gaze. “Don’t make it weird, man.”

 

That seems to jolt Dex out of his gaping. “Oh, sure, _I’m_ making it weird,” he says, but his shoulders relax a little. He nudges Derek a little with his elbow, though. “Thanks, I guess,” he mutters. “It’s cool that you trust me.”

 

“Yup,” Derek says. This bus seat could open up and swallow him any second now. That would be _great_.

 

They sit in slightly uncomfortable silence for a few minutes, and Derek starts to let his head droop onto the window again. Maybe he can take a nap, and when he wakes up, this will have been a very awkward dream.

 

“I don’t think I could do it,” Dex says.

 

Or not.

 

Derek picks his head up. “You don’t have to,” he points out, assuming he means returning the blowjob favor. Each time they’ve hooked up so far, Dex has sort of half-heartedly offered to get Derek off, but Derek hasn’t taken him up on it--partly because he’s pretty sure that Dex is only offering to be polite, and partly because he gets into a kind of headspace when he’s on his knees like that, and sometimes it takes him a little while to get back into the swing of sex, and he’s _definitely_ sure that even if Dex is down for an awkward handjob, he’s probably _not_ down for getting Derek all the way there. “I know it’s not really your thing.”

 

“Not that,” Dex says, ears turning red again. Huh. That’s interesting. “I mean giving someone else that much--y’know. I don’t think I could.”

 

“Oh.” Derek toys with his sleeve. “Maybe you’d like it better on the other side,” he says, not really thinking about it.

 

Dex cocks an eyebrow. “No complaints so far,” he says, and Derek almost chokes on his tongue, because that is _not what he meant_.

 

“I didn’t mean it like that, I meant, you know, maybe you’d like--being more in control.” He’s mostly mumbling by the time he finishes talking. “Or not, whatever. You’d know your own shit more than I would.”

 

Dex blinks slowly. “I never thought about it.” He looks at Derek for another moment or two, expression thoughtful, and then he grins, slow and almost smirking. “If you were white, how red would your face be right now?”

 

The chirp dissolves some of the discomfort at the base of Derek’s spine, and he elbows Dex’s ribs. “Not as red as your giant ears, Poindexter,” he says. “Gimme your hoodie.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because,” Derek says, back on more familiar ground, “I want a nap and this window’s uncomfortable as shit.”

 

Dex rolls his eyes, but he pulls his hoodie out of his backpack and shoves it at Derek’s face. “Wouldn’t want you to miss out on your beauty sleep, Nurse.”

 

“You’re damn right you wouldn’t,” Derek mutters. He catches Dex’s grin going even wider before he closes his eyes.

 

They don’t talk about it again, and Derek’s mostly forgotten about the entire weird exchange by the time he’s back in Dex’s room a few days later, working on his paper for Migrating Bodies and Texts and attempting to not dig his eyeballs out with the tip of his pen.

 

He’s in his usual spot, sprawled on his stomach on Dex’s bed, vaguely attempting to write the stupid paper but mostly getting distracted by Tumblr. And Twitter. And Spotify. He keeps trying to go back to his Word document, but he’s pretty sure he can’t string together another paragraph on visual constructions of the Caribbean, no matter how much he loves Jamaica Kincaid.

 

(And he does. So much. He’s just...dying inside.)

 

Dex has his laptop open and is doing something with a lot of typing. Derek glances over at him, not for the first time. His expression is concentrated and intense, his fingers moving over his keyboard smoothly, and Derek presses his lips together.

 

Distracting Dex is...probably a dick move. Derek knows he’s stressed, too. Everyone’s stressed. Fuck midterms. It’s probably not fair for Samwell to call them “midterms” when they start in October and go through finals. Someone should start a petition. But it’s maybe _less_ of a dick move if he’s going to offer to blow him, right?

 

Whatever, he’s going for it.

 

“Hey, Dex?”

 

Dex startles a little. He must have been deeper into Coding Zone than Derek thought. He rolls his shoulders back and glances at him. “Yeah?”

 

Derek sits up on the bed. “So like--y’know how you have a dick?”

 

Dex rolls his eyes. “You’re never gonna let me live that down, are you?”

 

Derek grins. “Probably not.”

 

“Jokes on you, fucker, you still sucked me off.” Dex cracks his neck--Derek winces--and then his knuckles. “Sorry, though. This is timed, I can’t take a break right now.”

 

Derek is a grown adult person, so he definitely doesn’t pout at him.

 

Or maybe he does, because Dex snickers. “Sorry, bro. I’ve got another six sets to do. You’re gonna have to do your homework for once.” He turns back to his computer, a grin playing on the edges of his mouth. “Unless you want to just get on your knees and wait for me,” he adds over his shoulder.

 

His tone is light and teasing, and Derek _knows_ he’s not serious. The question still comes out of his mouth before he can stop it. “Do you want me to?”

 

Dex goes still, and then turns back to him, eyes wide. Derek has no idea what his own face is doing. He tries, probably belatedly, to school it into something resembling nonchalance. He must fail, because Dex swallows visibly, and Derek tracks the movement of his throat like his eyes are glued to it. “I...” Dex begins, and then he swallows again. “Yeah,” he says, and his voice is rougher than it was before, half a pitch lower. The timbre of it settles over Derek’s shoulders like a heavy hand. “Yeah, I do.”

 

Derek doesn’t move. He thinks he might be frozen. He’s not sure if it’s surprise or--or something else.

 

Dex nods to the floor. “Go on,” he says. “Knees.”

 

He says it firmly, and Derek’s moving before he even really thinks about it, closing his computer and sliding off the bed. He folds himself down onto his knees, sitting back on his heels, his eyes locked with Dex’s the entire time, because he doesn’t think he can look away from him. The shitty dorm rug doesn’t have much cushion to it, but the firmness feels grounding under his knees, stabilizing.

 

“Fuck,” Dex says quietly. He gets to his feet, and for a second Derek thinks he’s going to abandon his homework after all, but he just crosses to the door, closing it and flipping the lock. He pauses by Derek as he walks back to his desk, his hand twitching forward like he might touch him, and then he shakes his head. “Stay there and be quiet,” he says. He sounds less sure than he had before, but his voice is still steady. “Okay?”

 

Derek nods.

 

Dex frowns. “You sure?”

 

Derek swallows hard. “Yeah.”

 

It comes out almost as a whisper. He’s the farthest point on the axis from chill.

 

“Right,” Dex says. He almost looks dazed. “Okay.”

 

It takes him another second to actually turn around and go back to his desk, and Derek feels the loss of eye contact like a punch. He exhales slowly and closes his eyes, relaxing down into his heels and his knees, into the floor. He brings his hands into his lap, but that doesn’t really feel right, so he loops them behind his back instead catching his right wrist in his left hand, but that starts to ache after a few minutes. Hesitantly, he puts them in his lap again.

 

“Nursey,” Dex says, a little sharply. Derek startles, opening his eyes, but Dex hasn’t even turned around. “Stop fidgeting.”

 

“Sorry,” he says, without thinking. He settles for putting both his hands on his knees, and curls his thumb and middle fingers together in a shuni mudra, like he does in yoga. He presses the fingertips together, releasing another slow breath, and closes his eyes again.

 

The mudra settles his nerves a little, keeps him present but dissolves some of the jitters, and he feels himself relax. The pressure of his knees against the floor hurts a little, but it’s a dull pain, almost grounding, and he doesn’t mind it. It’s good.

 

His mind starts drifting after a few moments, settling into that weird sort of headspace he usually only gets after he’s had his mouth on someone for awhile, when he’s sunk so deep into concentration that he forgets to think. It’s soothing and quiet and warm, and he lets himself float there, comfortable and quiet.

 

He doesn’t know how much time has passed before Dex’s laptop closes with a sharp _click_. Derek forces his eyes open--his eyelids feel heavy, and it takes more effort than he expects--to see Dex pushing his chair back and crossing to him in a few short steps, stopping close enough that Derek could lean forward and catch the zipper of his jeans in his lips, if he thought he was allowed.

 

But he doesn’t know if he’s allowed, so he stays. Waits.

 

“Shit,” Dex murmurs, looking down at him. His eyes are wide, and Derek swallows. He doesn’t know what he looks like, but if the way Dex is staring is any indication it’s...good? Probably? Fuck, he can’t think.

 

He can tell that Dex is hard in his jeans, the fabric tented in the front. And that’s--different. The other times they’ve done this, it’s taken a few minutes for Dex to really get going, which Derek’s figured makes sense. They skip anything even close to foreplay, it’s not weird that Dex isn’t usually hard when they start.

 

But he’s definitely hard _now_ , and Derek really, _really_ wants him to take his pants off.

 

“I probably fucked up half that problem set, dude,” Dex says softly, reaching down and touching Derek’s cheek, a barely-there ghosting of his fingertips that makes Derek lean forward. “Do you have any idea how fucking--how fucking distracting you are? On your knees like this?”

 

“No,” Derek says.

 

“You’re gonna kill my programming grade,” Dex says, but he’s grinning. He drops his hand and reaches for his belt, and Derek thinks _yes, fuck, yes_ as he unbuckles it and then pops the button on his jeans, sliding the zipper down. Derek knows he’s going slow to be careful, not to tease, but he still has to bite his lip to keep from making an impatient noise.

  
Dex notices, and his lip curls into a smirk. “You’re fucking easy for it, Nurse, Jesus,” he says. It comes out too awed to really be a chirp, though, and when he lets his jeans fall open and pulls his dick out of his boxers, Derek _does_ make a sound, soft and wanting, before he can stop himself. He’s hard enough that the tip of his dick is already glistening, and Dex strokes himself once while Derek watches, frozen, collecting the moisture on his thumb and then, after an instant’s hesitation, offering his thumb to Derek.

 

Derek doesn’t think, doesn’t pause, just leans forward and pulls Dex’s thumb into his mouth, curling his tongue around it and sucking hard.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Dex breathes, and Derek could hear that sound for the rest of his life, he really could. He looks up at him, and Dex’s expression is torn somewhere between amazement and yearning. He pulls his thumb out of Derek’s mouth and runs his hand through Derek’s hair.

 

“Dex,” Derek says. He doesn’t mean to whine it, but it comes out soft and breathy anyway, and Dex laughs roughly.

 

“Yeah, okay,” he says, and tugs gently on Derek’s hair, pulling him forward.

 

Derek doesn’t bother to stifle the moan that slips past his lips as he finally gets his mouth on Dex’s dick. He closes his eyes, shuddering a little, and Dex chuckles softly above him, his hand loose in Derek’s hair. The skin of his dick is slick and hot, and Derek sinks down as deeply as he can until the head brushes the back of his throat. He swallows, carefully, and Dex groans.

 

“ _Fuck_ , Nursey.” His fingers tighten in Derek’s curls, hips hitching forward, and Derek moans around him, sliding his mouth back and then down again. Dex shudders. “ _Fuck_ ,” he says again. “Nursey--Nursey, I’m not gonna last long.”

 

His voice shakes when he says it, and Derek sort of wants to be disappointed, but he feels too good. He feels like he’s floating, his mind soft and fuzzy and comfortable, like his whole world has narrowed down to Dex’s cock in his mouth and Dex’s hand in his hair and Dex’s voice, low and rough above him, words spilling out and running together until Derek almost loses track of them. “Shit, Nurse, you’re so good, I don’t even-- _fuck_ , I’m not--”

 

He breaks off with a muffled curse, his other hand slipping into Derek’s hair as well, fingers tightening. Derek leans forward, into the touch, and Dex’s dick slides a fraction deeper into his throat.

 

“Oh, fuck,” Dex chokes out. “Nursey.”

 

Derek hums, content and a little overwhelmed but in the best way--his lips are a little too stretched and his throat hurts from the press of Dex’s cock and he _loves_ it. There’s a poetry in this, he thinks, in the sensation and the rhythm and the weight of Dex’s dick in his mouth, heavy and hot.

 

Dex tightens his grip on Derek’s hair. “Nursey,” he says. His voice is thick, but the warning note filters through the haze in Derek’s head. “Fuck, I--I’m gonna come.”

 

 _Good_ , Derek thinks, a little desperate. He can’t say it, his mouth is full, but he _wants_ it. He moans around Dex’s dick instead, and Dex shudders hard, his hips jerking forward as he comes down Derek’s throat with a groan. Derek breathes through his nose and swallows, whimpering a little, letting his world narrow down to the pressure in his mouth and Dex’s fingers in his hair.

 

It’s good. It’s so good. It’s everything he needs.

 

“Shit,” Dex breathes finally, and Derek drags his eyes open to look up at him. Dex pulls out slow, easing his hands out of Derek’s curls, and Derek tamps down on any disappointed sounds that might come out of him. Dex looks down at him, cheeks flushed and pupils wide, and brushes Derek’s hair back almost tenderly.

 

Then he laughs a little, almost breathless. “Fucking hell, Nurse,” he says. “I’m gonna be so fucked when I go home for break and my mom drags me to church. You know that, right?”

 

Derek has to swallow a few times before he trusts his voice. “Sorry,” he says.

 

He’s not sorry, actually. Not even a little bit.

 

“No, you’re not,” Dex says, lip curling in a slow smirk. “I forgive you.”

 

Derek smiles up at him. He still feels like he’s floating. His knees hurt a little, and his hands are stiff--he realizes, with a flicker of surprise, that they’re still on his knees, thumbs and middle fingers still pressed together. He uncurls them and flexes his fingers to get the blood flowing again.

 

Dex glances down, and his pupils dilate a little as he notices Derek’s hands. “Shit, you never--” Derek shrugs one shoulder, and Dex exhales a shaky breath. “Holy shit, Nursey,” he murmurs, and then, to Derek’s shock, sinks down to his knees so that he’s on Derek’s level. “I wanna touch you,” he says. His voice is low, and rough, and goes right to Derek’s gut. “Can I touch you?”

 

Derek stares at him, trying to make sense of what he’s saying. His brain still feels scrambled, and Dex isn’t--he doesn’t-- _what?_

 

“What?” he manages.

 

Dex’s cheeks stain a darker red than they were before, but he holds Derek’s eyes steadily. “You never let me touch you, after,” he says. “Can I, this time?”

 

Derek’s mouth goes dry. “I didn’t think you wanted...” he starts, and then has to swallow before he chokes on his tongue. “You don’t like guys?” he tries instead.

 

Dex shrugs one shoulder. “What’d you tell me the first time? Don’t knock it til I try it?” His eyes glint, and he reaches out, curls one hand around Derek’s hip. “I want to. Let me?”

 

He can’t feel his brain. “Um,” Derek manages. “Yeah?”

 

“You wanna sound a little more sure about that?” Dex drawls.

  
And what the fuck, that’s not fair, when did Will ‘I’ve got a dick’ Poindexter become smoother than him? Derek shakes his head, then stops and nods instead. “Yeah,” he says, stronger this time. “Yeah. Please?”

 

The _please_ slips out before he can stop it, and Dex sucks in a quick breath before he smooths his face into a grin. “Great,” he says. He climbs to his feet, tucks his dick back into his boxers, and then holds out a hand for Derek’s. “C’mon.”

 

Derek blinks at him. “What?”

 

Dex snorts. “I’m not jerking you off on the floor, dude,” he says. He waggles his fingers. “Let’s go, come on.”

 

It takes Derek a second, but he slips his hand into Dex’s and lets Dex pulls him up to his feet. He stumbles a little, half because he’s still a little stunned and half because all the blood rushing back into his extremities makes him a little dizzy. Dex catches his hips with a short laugh and steadies him. “You okay, bro?”

 

“Yeah, I’m good,” Derek says, letting Dex steer him towards his bed. “My toes are asleep?”

 

Dex chuckles. “Yeah, you were down there awhile,” he says. He pushes Derek down onto the bed and then climbs up after him. He pauses for a moment, looking thoughtful. “I’m not sure, uh,” he says, and then says, all in a rush, “I don’t really know what I’m doing. Or what angle? Or--”

 

Derek grins. This is logistics, he can do this, he’s good at this. “Yeah, here,” he says. He puts his hands on Dex’s shoulders and nudges him until he sits back against the wall, and then he straddles Dex’s lap. “Like this, okay?”

 

Dex looks up at him, lifting his hands to put them on Derek’s hips, squeezing gently. “Yeah, good,” he says. He trails one hand across the crotch of Derek’s jeans, pressing down on his dick, and Derek shivers a little.

 

“Dex,” he says. Dex grins at him.

 

“Yeah, I got you.” He flicks the button on Derek’s jeans more smoothly than Derek would have given him credit for, and laughs at whatever Derek’s face does. “Hey, I’m not a total fucking amateur, girls wear jeans, too.”

 

Derek huffs out a laugh of his own. “Yeah, okay. Something different under them, though.”

 

Dex hums. “Kind of figured that part out,” he says. “Up,” he says, and Derek sits up on his knees so that Dex can tug his jeans and boxer briefs down enough to bare Derek’s cock.

 

Then he stops. “Fuck,” he says quietly, staring.

 

“Dex,” Derek says. He feels a little self-conscious. “You don’t have to--”

 

“Oh, shut up,” Dex says, and wraps a hand around him. Derek snaps his mouth shut.

 

He’s not totally hard--he doesn’t usually get there, not from giving a blowjob. It’s not that he’s not turned on, it’s just like he’s just too deep into wherever his head gets for his dick to really figure out what’s going on.

 

It takes barely a minute for Dex’s hand to get him with the program. Dex’s palm is warm and a little rough, his fingers long and slim and hotter than Derek’s, because Derek’s got shit circulation and the tips of his fingers are almost always a little chilled. He moves in long, steady pulls, circling his hand over the head on the downstroke, and Derek digs his hands into Dex’s shoulders, biting down on a moan.

 

“Hey,” Dex says. “Don’t.”

 

Derek drags his eyes up from where he’s been staring at the contrast of Dex’s pale hand against the skin of his dick. “Don’t what?”

 

Dex grins, slow and lazy. “Don’t keep yourself quiet.”

 

He squeezes his hand as he says it, precome letting his fingers move slick-smooth, and Derek shudders out a whimper before he can stop himself. “Yeah,” Dex says. “ _Good_.”

 

The word sinks down onto him warm and heavy, spooling in the base of Derek’s spine, and he takes in a shaking breath, dropping his head down into the crook of Dex’s neck. Dex laughs, low and husky, and moves his hand faster. He feels--he feels good. He feels _so_ good. “Dex,” he whispers, hitching his hips forward into Dex’s grip, and feels Dex’s chuckle in his _veins_.

 

“Yeah, I’ve got you,” Dex murmurs. He twists his hand, and Derek can’t stop the whimper that spills out of him. Dex grins. “That’s good?”

 

“So good,” Derek whispers. Fuck, his chill is _gone_ , he’s gonna die. This is how he dies. “Dex, please, I--I want--”

 

“You wanna come?” Dex asks, voice rough.

 

Derek muffles his moan into the fabric of Dex’s t-shirt. He didn’t think he’d get there, not this fast, but he’s-- _fuck_. He’s so close, but he’s not--he can’t--

 

Dex strokes his hand down again, fingers tightening, grip firm. “What are you waiting for?” he says, turning his head just enough that his mouth brushes Derek’s ear. “An invitation?” He twists his hand, sliding through the moisture, and then laughs, low in his throat. “Permission?”

 

And that--that hits him where he lives. Derek tightens his grip on Dex’s shoulders, shuddering, choking out, “Dex, please, fuck--”

 

“Oh, _shit_.” Dex lifts his head and looks at him, eyes wide. “You fucking _are_ , aren’t you?” Derek bites back another moan, and Dex hisses a “ _fuck_ ” through his teeth. “C’mon, Nursey, you can, I want you to, come for me.”

 

Something snaps inside him and Derek chokes out a cry that might be Dex’s name but he can’t be sure, shooting over Dex’s hand and arm and stomach, come splattering Dex’s t-shirt and he can’t even care. He tries to muffle the noise he’s making in Dex’s shoulder--he can’t even remember if Dex’s suitemates are home, they didn’t put music on or anything, it’s gotta be obvious what’s happening, but he can’t stop himself from moaning, from gasping for breath as he shudders through his orgasm.

 

“Fuck,” Dex gasps. “Nursey, shit, I can’t believe you just--”

 

He shifts a little, under Derek’s legs, and Derek realizes with a start that he’s reaching for his own dick, hard again and straining through his boxers. “Can’t believe you just came ’cause I told you, Jesus fucking Christ--”

 

Derek’s head is spinning, from the orgasm or Dex’s voice or the scent of his skin or--he doesn’t even know. “I’ve never,” he gasps, “I didn’t know I could--that I wanted--”

 

“Oh _shit_ ,” Dex chokes out. He wraps a hand around himself and barely lasts three strokes before he’s spilling, his come mixing with Derek’s between them.

 

They sit there for a minute, both of them gasping for breath. Derek can’t stop shaking, his hands still digging into Dex’s shoulders, and Dex is still shuddering through the aftershocks of his second orgasm, one hand clutching at Derek’s hip.

 

“Jesus,” Dex says finally. He shoves at Derek, mostly gently, and Derek lets himself topple over onto the bed next to him, his head smushing onto Dex’s pillow and narrowly missing his own laptop. “That was--” He laughs, weakly. “Fuck.”

 

“Mmph,” Derek tells the pillow.

 

Dex laughs again. “You good, man?”

 

“I...yeah. I’m good.” Derek forces his eyes open. He feels loose and shivery and _awesome_. He feels like he’s resting on a cloud. Fuck. He wants to write this shit down, wants to find the right metaphor for this feeling.

 

His profs would fucking kill him if he turned this in as a poem, but he wants to do it anyway.

 

Then he remembers that this is Dex, that Dex is...straight, or mostly straight, or something? He forces himself to sit up. “Are _you_ good?”

 

“Fuck yeah,” Dex says. He grins, lazy and warm. “I’m fucking _great_.” He pauses. “You might have, uh, been onto something.”

  
Derek frowns. “With what?”

 

“What you said on the bus.” Dex takes his shirt off in an easy, casual motion, tossing it into the laundry hamper in the corner before he stuffs his junk back in his shorts. Derek knows his dick is still hanging out, but can’t make himself do anything about it. “About me, uh--liking the control, thing.”

 

“Oh,” Derek says. He blinks a few times, trying to make sense of that through the haze of endorphins and warmth. “That’s...oh. Okay.”

 

“Also,” Dex says. He rolls onto his side to look at Derek, his brow furrowing slightly. “Also, I’m--not straight.”

 

Derek stares at him. “Uh?” he manages. He’s a fucking disaster. “Thanks for. Telling me?”

 

Dex looks back at him, amber eyes narrowed, and then bursts out laughing. “You’re such a fucking nerd, Nursey, holy _shit_ , I can’t believe I just came out to you.”

 

Well that’s just--

 

Derek grabs a pillow and smacks Dex in the face with it. “I just came my fucking _brains out_ ,” he says. “Sorry for not being up for a fucking heart to heart, you massive tool.” He whacks Dex again, and Dex cackles, rolling out of the line of fire. Derek hits him again, then drops the pillow. “Seriously, though,” he says. “Thanks for, uh. Telling me.”

 

Dex snorts. “Figured you’d get it from the context clues eventually,” he says, shrugging one shoulder. “I basically begged you to let me touch your dick.”

 

Derek grins at him. “Yeah, well, I’ve got a great dick,” he says.

 

“You _are_ a dick,” Dex retorts, but he’s grinning. “Don’t you have fucking homework to do?”

 

Derek groans, taking the pillow back so he can stuff it over his face. “I have to write an essay about black diaspora identity in Caribbean poetry and I’m gonna fucking _die_ , Dex.”

 

“It’ll build character,” Dex says. He takes the pillow back, hits Derek’s shoulder with it, and sits up. “Write your essay and then we can go down to Superberry and get some of that shitty froyo you like.”

 

“ _Dex_ ,” Derek whines. “That’s not fair.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because I want froyo but I don’t wanna write my essay.”

 

“Shit’s rough,” Dex says sagely, and pushes him off the bed. Derek crashes to the ground with a yelp, and Dex starts laughing again, his whole face bright and warm.

 

It looks like sunshine, Derek thinks, looking up at him from the floor.

 

He is so fucked.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: Dex puts Nursey on his knees and tells him what to do and when to come. They don't discuss this beforehand, and don't talk about it afterwards, but there is full consent and everyone is very, very into it. That said: this is very much not good kink practice. Talk to your partner and practice good aftercare. 
> 
> (Is the lack of discussion going to eventually bite them in the ass? Yes, most likely. But not in this particular chapter.)
> 
> Oh my gosh, team--I was _not_ expecting the outpouring of feedback on the last chapter. You are all my favorites. Thank you SO much. 
> 
> Many, many thanks to [deb](http://debz0rz.tumblr.com) for beta-ing and filtering out everything I wrote while distinctly tipsy. Day drink responsibly, y'all.
> 
> Questions? Comments? Feelings? Want to just yell at me about stuff? Come visit me [on tumblr](http://geniusorinsanity.tumblr.com)!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Will Poindexter gets a little more comfortable giving orders, Derek Nurse has terrifying roommates but an A+ commitment to safe sex practices, and our boys have an actual conversation before ending up in bed. Also: what the hell's going on with Ransom and Holster?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is 9,000 words long, and it's filthy. I don't know how this happened, but I'm sorry.
> 
> See the end notes for content warnings (contains some spoilers).

 

So he’s sleeping with Nursey. That’s...that’s a thing now.

 

It’s weird. Or rather it’s--it’s weird because it’s not.

 

Dex adjusts his grip on the strap of his backpack as he makes his way to the Haus to study with Chowder, half-absently looking for particularly crunchy leaves to step on.

 

He kind of expects that someone would have noticed by now, but no one seems to. Then again, outside of the times they’re actually hooking up, they haven’t really changed how they act at practice, or in the Haus, or anywhere else. They chirp each other nonstop on the ice and Dex makes fun of Nursey’s poetry and Nursey trash-talks Dex’s taste in flannel button-downs (which Dex now knows is totally faked, since Nursey’s stolen two of them), and sometimes Dex puts his dick in Nursey’s mouth.

 

Not weird.

 

The Haus smells like pumpkin pie and maple syrup when he walks in, which means two things: that Bitty’s procrastinating, and that there will definitely be pie later.

 

Dex grins. He fucking loves the Haus. “Hey,” he calls, closing the front door. “Anybody home?”

 

Holster’s on the living room couch with a highlighter in his mouth, and he glances over his shoulder at Dex. “Sup, bro?”

 

“Got a coding date with Chowder,” Dex begins, and then stops dead.

 

It’s not weird to find Holster on the couch, surrounded by Econ books. It’s not weird that he’s got an open bottle of beer on the table next to him, or that he’s watching _Mulan_. It’s not even weird that he has one highlighter stuck between his teeth, another one behind his ear, and a third abandoned next to his beer bottle.

 

What _is_ a little weird is that Ransom is curled up on his side on the floor, a pile of flashcards in his hands, and that Holster seems to be using him as a footrest.

 

“Uh,” Dex says carefully. “What’s going on?”

 

“Coral reef mode,” Holster says. “Don’t worry about him.”

 

“Um.” Ransom mutters something that sounds like a very complex series of chemicals, clearly talking more to his flashcards than to either of them. He’s twitching. Dex raises his eyebrows. “Are you...sure?”

 

Ransom gets to the end of the stack of cards. “Holtzy,” he says.

 

Holster takes the highlighter out of his mouth and looks down at him. “Was that four times or five?”

 

“Four,” Ransom says.

 

“Go through them again.” Ransom frowns up at him, and Holster pushes his glasses farther up on his nose. “You said make you go through them five times, I’m making you go through them five times. Unless you wanna get up?”

 

Ransom huffs out a breath, but picks up his cards again. “No,” he mutters. “Five times.”

 

“Good,” Holster says. He sounds pleased. Dex stares at him.

 

Every single one of his friends is fucking insane.

 

Holster seems to realize he’s staring, and glances at him. “I’ve got him, bro,” he says firmly, like the confusion on Dex’s face is about whether Ransom’s okay and not about whatever the fuck Holster’s doing. He crosses his legs at the ankles where he’s resting his feet on the dip of Ransom’s waist. “He’s good.”

 

Dex nods slowly. “Uh...okay.” He eyes Ransom for another moment, then shakes his head. “Fucking Samwell,” he mutters, and climbs up the stairs.

 

Chowder’s door is open, and Dex heads in without knocking. “Dude,” he says by way of greeting, going through his usual round of rapid blinking as his eyes adjust to the assault of turquoise that is Chowder’s room. “What the shit is going on with Ransom?”

 

Chowder sighs, looking up from his laptop. “Is he still on the floor?”

 

“Yep,” Dex says, plopping down on Chowder’s bed. “Holster’s using him as an ottoman.”

 

“Jeez,” Chowder says. He shakes his head. “I love them, but they are so weird sometimes.” He glances around, as if expecting one of their captains to pop out of nowhere, and then whispers, “I think Holster was telling him when to eat yesterday? Like...what?”

 

Dex tries to think about that. “I mean, it’s Rans and it’s midterms, and he’s got the MCAT coming up,” he says slowly. “Maybe he’d forget otherwise?”

 

Chowder looks horrified. “Who forgets to _eat_?”

 

“Last semester Ransom forgot to _sleep_ for two days during finals,” Dex reminds him. “Not really surprising he’d forget to eat.”

 

“I guess it’s nice that Holster takes care of him,” Chowder says. His fingers drift over his keyboard, looking up their homework.

 

Dex hums an agreement, tugging his own laptop and his water bottle out of his backpack. He boots his computer up.

 

“Hey,” Chowder says. “Would you take care of Nursey like that?”

 

Dex chokes on his water. “Uh,” he sputters. “Like--like what?”

 

Chowder blinks at him. “Like, making sure he eats and sleeps and stuff? Come on, you know that whole _chill_ thing is totally fake, right? He gets _crazy_ stressed about school.”

 

“Ha,” Dex manages weakly, wiping off his screen. Of course that’s what he meant. Definitely not--definitely not anything like what Holster’s doing downstairs, pinning Ransom to the floor with the weight of his legs until he finishes studying, _nope_. Especially because Rans and Holster are weird and cuddly but they’re not--it’s not like what he’s doing with Nursey. “Yeah. Of course, dude, he’s my d-man.”

 

“Dex?” Chowder’s giving him a very weird look. Dex feels his ears heat up. “Are you okay?”

 

“Yup,” Dex says quickly. “Yup, I’m great.” He opens a browser and pulls up their programming course portal. “Homework, right? Let’s do that.”

 

Chowder narrows his eyes slightly. “O _kay_ ,” he says slowly. “You’re being hella cagey right now. You know that, right?”

 

Dex pokes at the link to the assignment they need to get through, and it pops open in a new window. “I will buy you coffee for a week if you don’t ask me why,” he says.

 

“No deal,” Chowder says promptly. “You’re broke, and Bitty always makes coffee in the morning so I get it before morning skate.”

 

“You’re the worst,” Dex mutters. He wipes a little more water off his chin and sighs. There’s no way he’s telling Chowder what he was _actually_ thinking, but he knows how to throw him off the scent. “Okay, so, uh,” he says. “I need to tell you something?”

 

He kind of hopes Chowder will just nod and listen, but, because he’s Chowder, he puts his laptop down next to him and looks Dex full in the face, his expression open and intent. “Sure, man,” he says earnestly. “What’s up?”

 

Dex swallows. Telling Nursey was one thing, Nursey’s had Dex’s dick in his mouth. This is Chowder. “Okay, so,” he says. “I’m bi?”

 

It comes out as a question, which it isn’t. He actually feels pretty good about the label. But it’s the first time he’s said it out loud, and…

 

“Oh,” Chowder says. He doesn’t sound surprised.

 

Which--what the shit, Chowder? Dex starts to frown. “I--”

 

“I mean, that’s cool,” Chowder says quickly. “Sorry, I just realized that _oh_ was probably kind of--I think that’s awesome. Thanks for telling me.” He flushes. “I didn’t mean to say you were being weird, oh my gosh, I--I didn’t realize you were nervous about telling me.”

 

“It’s cool,” Dex says, pointedly shoving down any twinges of guilt for being a little misleading.  

 

“Anyway,” he says, shifting a little to readjust himself in his pants without being obvious about it. “I just wanted to tell you. I’m not doing like, a coming out tour or anything, just. Y’know, it’s you. So.”

 

Chowder beams at him. “Yeah, _totally_ ,” he says. He picks his computer up again, and then pauses. “Does Nursey know?”

 

Dex lowers his water bottle, suddenly very, _very_ thankful that Chowder asked that question _before_ he took another sip. He’s not sure how many more spit-takes his laptop can handle. “Yeah,” he says. Says. Not squeaks. Totally cool. Nursey levels of chill. “Yeah, Nursey knows.”

 

“Cool,” Chowder says, looking relieved. “Not that you’d have to tell him, or anything, I just--we’re, like, The Frogs, you know? I wouldn’t want to keep something from him.”

 

“Well, he knows,” Dex says. His ears are on fire. Maybe Chowder won’t notice. Sweetest kid Dex knows, but not the most observant when he’s not in the cage. “He definitely knows.”

 

“Cool,” Chowder says again.

 

Great, Dex thinks.

 

That wasn’t weird at all.

 

It takes them two hours to work their way through the assignment. Chowder doesn’t ask anymore questions, which is awesome, and the programming sets aren’t as hard as Dex was worried they would be, which means he maybe doesn’t suck at his major. So, that’s good.

 

Chowder has a dinner date with Farmer to get ready for, so Dex packs up and heads downstairs when they finish. He pauses as he passes the living room, glancing in to make sure Ransom hasn’t dissolved into a pile of anxiety despite Holster’s best efforts.

 

The TV has switched from _Mulan_ to _Despicable Me_ , because Holster is a six-foot-four, two-hundred pound seven-year-old. Ransom is out cold, sprawled across the couch with his head in Holster’s lap. Holster has one arm draped over Ransom’s shoulder, the fingertips of his other hand stroking along Ransom’s hairline. He glances up as Dex comes in. “Hey, bro. Thinking about a Disney marathon, you wanna join?”

 

Dex blinks at him, and then looks at Ransom, who seems to have lost all of his earlier tight-wound tension, totally draped across Holster’s lap. “Um,” he says. “No, but...Dude, is he cool?”

 

“Who, Rans?” Holster looks down at him, smiling fondly. Ransom doesn’t so much as stir. “Yeah, he’ll be fine, he just needs to sleep for like six hours.”

 

“Okay,” Dex says slowly. He heads towards the door, and then stops, turning back around. “You know this is super weird, right?”

 

Holster shrugs. “He’s got a 4.0 and he hasn’t panic-attacked himself into the ER since our freshman year. Don’t question the system, bro.”

 

Dex snorts. “Fair,” he says. “See you at practice, man.”

 

“Swawesome,” Holster says absently, slouching down a little more on the couch and readjusting his arm over Ransom’s shoulders.

 

Dex shakes his head. They’re the most drift compatible people he knows and they’re probably soulmates, but he really doesn’t understand them.

 

Although, he thinks, heading out of the Haus and down the stairs, he kind of gets the appeal. Nursey looks good as hell on his knees, he’d probably look good with--

 

He trips over a dip in the sidewalk and almost goes sprawling. Years of hockey-trained reflexes keep him from tumbling to the ground, but a few of the Lax bros hanging out on their porch still see it and laugh at him. Dex rolls his eyes and flips them off, shoving his hands in his pockets and heading back towards his dorm.

 

Then, because he’s weak and he has no self-control, he pulls out his phone. It’s a quarter to five and Nursey has a poetry workshop until seven, but whatever.

 

(He very pointedly doesn’t wonder when he basically memorized Nursey’s class schedule. That’s not important.)

 

hey question

 

**Nurseyyyy**

sup

 

could i tie you up sometime?

 

 

Nursey’s typing icon flashes for a full thirty seconds before his phone buzzes with a reply.

 

**Nurseyyyy**

DEX WHAT THE FUCK I’M IN CLASS

 

So?

 

SO

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK MAN

NOT COOL

 

Dex snorts, scrolling up in their conversation to last Tuesday, when Nursey had texted him in the middle of his Data Structures class. He takes a screenshot, then scrolls back down.

 

I’m sorry motherfucker what?

<screenshot.jpg>

 

 

**Nurseyyyy**

...touche, poindexter

 

I’m noticing that’s not a no

 

We’ll talk

You asshole

 

Dex grins, slipping his phone in his pocket.

 

Jeff and Mike are sprawled on the couches playing Call of Duty when he gets home, a six pack of Coors on the floor. “Hey,” Dex says, shoving the door closed with his foot. “Who bought beer?”

 

“Jonesy,” Mike says. Dex makes a face. Dylan Jones is a d-man on the lacrosse team, and for some reason, Mike’s friends with him. Dex is about ninety percent sure that his real name is actually Chad. As far as he’s concerned, they’re _all_ named Chad. Mike rolls his eyes. “Will, dude, you know that literally no one cares about the hockey/lacrosse rivalry except you guys, right?”

 

“People are dumb,” Dex says. He thinks about his Computational Linguistics textbook, and the amount of studying he has to do before his test on Thursday, and gives up. He puts his backpack down, picks up one of the cans of Coors left in the six pack, and plops down on the couch next to Jeff. “I got next round.”

 

They play for two hours, drinking shitty beer--it’s _so bad_ , holy shit, at least Rans and Holster buy Bud for the Haus--and procrastinating on their homework. It’s actually kind of great. Their suite is gross and always smells like Dude and they all suck at remembering to clean, but sometimes it’s awesome to get away from the Haus and the noise and the intensity of SMH and just...hang out with people who are into computers and video games and are capable of talking without screaming.

 

(If he somehow manages to get Dibs for next year, he’s got no clue if he’s going to take them. He loves the Haus, but he might lose his shit completely if he lives there.)

 

His phone buzzes in his pocket as Jeff, cackling wildly, snipes the head off a zombie from a borderline-impossible angle. “Yo, pause,” Dex says, digging into his jeans.

 

**Nurseyyyy**

Home from class

Wanna talk bondage?

 

Mike snickers at whatever Dex’s face does. “Bro,” he says. “That your fuckbuddy?”

 

Dex glances up at him, thumbs poised over his keyboard. “My what?”

 

“You have a _gonna get laid_ face,” Jeff says, putting his controller down and picking up his beer.

 

“And you’ve been wearing it a lot lately,” Mike adds. “Do we ever get to meet this girl?”

 

“You do not,” Dex says flatly.

 

Even though they’ve both met Nursey. Multiple times. And he’s actually kind of amazed that neither of them--or Joey, either, though he’s never fucking home so maybe it makes sense--have realized that he and Nursey spend a ton of time in his room with the door locked. At least now they’ve started putting music on when they’re gonna hook up.

 

Really, Dex is just pretty sure that he has the most oblivious suitemates on the planet.

 

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

“Anyway, I gotta go,” he says, pushing up to his feet. Jeff wolf-whistles at him, and Dex kicks his ankle. “Shut up.”

 

“Get it, Billy P,” Mike says, grinning.

 

“I’m not _getting_ \--oh, shut the fuck up.”

 

They’re still cackling as he leaves, grabbing his keys on his way out the door.

 

Most of Samwell’s sophomore housing is suite-style, and Nursey’s is in the same building as his. Dex heads up the stairs to the east wing, tapping on Nursey’s door with his phone.

 

“It’s open!”

 

Dammit. That’s not Nursey, that’s Sadie. Dex winces, but pushes the door open.

 

If Dex’s suite always smells like Dude and beer and computer parts, Nursey’s smells like incense and tea and microwaved grocery store brownies. Dex is pretty sure that it’s because Nursey lives with two girls and a guy whose cleaning regimen makes Bitty look casual and relaxed, and Dex lives with three dudes whose definition of “clean the apartment” is “run the roomba and Febreze some shit”. They have the exact same shitty dorm furniture as Dex’s suite, but theirs is covered in soft blankets, and there are fairy lights along the windows that are always on, instead of the bright as fuck industrial fluorescents at Dex’s.

 

The entire place is warm and comfortable and super relaxing. Dex would spend literally all his time here, except that Nursey’s roommates actually _scare the shit out of him_.

 

Case in point: Sadie and Laura are lying on the couch, watching a movie, and Cam is sitting on the floor, highlighting a textbook. All three of them look up at him in unison like the Children of the fucking Corn as he walks in. “Hey, guys,” he says cautiously.

 

“William,” Sadie says. She blinks slowly, her winged eyeliner sharp enough that Dex actually wonders if she could peel it off and stab him with it. He thinks about backing out the door and just texting Nursey to come by his place later instead. “You did an excellent job in your last home game.”

 

All of those words in that order should be totally normal, but for some reason, she says them like she’s looking into his soul and seeing all of his deepest darkest secrets.

 

(He’d asked Lardo once if it was an art major thing. Lardo had grinned, showing all of her teeth, and informed him that Sadie was her _very favorite_. Dex hadn’t been able to look her in the eye for a week.)

 

“Uh, thanks,” he says. “Is Nurse--Derek home? He said to come by.”

 

Cam sits back on his heels. “He _just_ got home,” he says, frowning. “He’s like, totally stressed about his poetry workshop. You’re not going to drag him out to one of those weird hockey things, are you?”

 

Every time he comes here, it’s like the first time he met his high school girlfriend’s dad. Who had a shotgun on the table.

 

“Uh, nope, I’m not,” he says. “Just here to chill.”

 

Laura narrows her eyes at him. He could bench-press Laura with one arm. _Why is she terrifying?_ “Cool,” she says. She tips her head back toward the hallway. “Derek!” she yells. Dex nearly leaps out of his skin. “Will’s here!”

 

There’s a crash--Dex winces--and Nursey pokes his head into the common room, looking sheepish. “Everything’s fine,” he says. “I definitely did not fall over shoes. Which, hey, thanks for leaving those in the hallway, Sade.”

 

Sadie blinks at him. “You are a graceful gazelle,” she says, absolutely deadpan. “And I love you.”

 

Nursey grins, leaning over the cough to tug gently at her hair. Dex watches in horror. Does he have a death wish? “Thanks, babe,” he drawls, and then looks up at Dex. “Hey, bro,” he says, eyes glinting. “You got here quick.”

 

“You know me,” Dex says. “Responsive as shit to your needs, dude.”

 

Cam puts his highlighter down, looking up at Dex like a leopard who’s just spotted prey. “What needs?”

 

Dex shoots Nursey a _help_ look, and Nursey snickers. “Dex sees to _all_ my needs,” he says, batting his eyelashes.

 

“Gross,” Laura says dryly. “Put music on if you’re gonna fuck.”

 

Dex sputters out a “wait--no--what--” but Nursey’s cackling, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him down the hallway.

 

As soon as Nursey’s door closes behind him, Dex manages, “What the _fuck_ , bro, do they _know_?”

 

Nursey laughs, sitting down on his bed. “Chill, dude, no. Laura’s just great at identifying whatever will make someone the most uncomfortable.” He grins. “She’s literally my favorite person.”

 

“What is _wrong_ with you?” Dex shakes his head, dropping down into Nursey’s desk chair. “Why do you live with these people? They are so fucking scary.”

 

“Hey, you’ve got your weird comp sci friends, I’ve got my weird artsy friends.” He shifts, pulling up his knees to sit cross-legged on the bed, and then, after a moment, drops his hands into his lap. He curls the fingers of his left hand around his right wrist, and then clears his throat. “So. Uh. About what you said.”

 

Dex’s mouth goes dry. He sits up a little straighter, and then flushes, because wow, Poindexter, that’s not obvious at all. “Yeah.”

 

“That’s…” Nursey clears his throat. “Something you want? To try?”

 

“I...” Dex begins, and then stops. He shifts in the chair, then glances at Nursey’s desk, looking for something to do with his hands. Nursey’s obsessed with weird fidget toys, and there are always a bunch of them scattered everywhere. Dex picks up a wooden puzzle toy and lets his hands move over it absently, and it settles his nerves a little.

 

“I think so,” he says, after a few moments of awkward silence. “I like--I like you on your knees. And I liked it when you--when you didn’t move, after I told you to stop messing around.” Blood warms through his cheeks, and his ears are probably on fire. This isn’t his thing, talking about sex. He _has_ sex, he likes that, but he doesn’t usually--

 

He swallows, and then takes a chance. “Anyway. I think you liked it, too?”

 

Nursey tugs his lower lip into his mouth and worries it between his teeth. It’s the worst possible thing he could do. Dex can’t _not_ stare. “I did,” he says softly, the barest hint of a rasp to his voice. “Like it, I mean. But, uh.” He moves his hands slightly, and Dex glances down in time to see him tighten his grip around his wrist. “Having my hands tied...I don’t know if I’d like that.”

 

A twinge of disappointment goes through him, but Dex tamps it down. He might not know exactly what they’re doing, but he knows enough to be pretty sure that they need to be on the same page. “That’s cool, man,” he says. “It was just something I--It was just a thought. If you’re not into it, then we don’t do it.”

 

“Well--” Nursey hesitates.

 

Dex very carefully doesn’t lean forward, raise his eyebrows, or say anything other than a careful, “Well?”

 

Nursey licks his lip and lets go of his wrist. “Look, bro,” he says. “I’ve got some issues. With, like--” He breaks off, clears his throat again, and then laces his fingers together. “Whatever. We don’t have to go into it. But uh, just because I don’t want my hands tied yet--” _Yet?_ Dex thinks, wildly. “--doesn’t mean we couldn’t try, um. Something else?”

 

Nope, too late, Dex’s eyebrows have definitely shot up. “Something else?”

 

Nursey’s cheeks don’t show flushes like Dex’s do, but they’ve definitely gotten slightly darker. “I was thinking, maybe--I liked not, uh, using my hands, last time. And I think I could…” He takes a breath, looking up at Dex. “If you told me not to move them, I could, uh. I’d like that.”

 

He sounds hesitant and unsure, like he’s not sure he’s allowed to be asking for what he’s asking for. He’s looking at Dex with nervous eyes, and as Dex watches, he bites at his lower lip. Dex sucks in a breath. That’s--okay. It’s not what he was expecting, but...Okay.

 

“Yeah,” he says. “I’d be into that.”

 

Something Dex can’t identify flickers across Nursey’s face. “Yeah?” he says, cautiously.

 

Dex grins. “Yeah.”

 

“Oh.” Nursey smiles. His eyes drift to Dex’s mouth, and then to the door. “So…” He says meaningfully.

 

It takes an instant for his meaning to sink in. Dex startles. “You wanna--now?”

 

Nursey grins. “I mean, if you do.”

 

“Yup,” Dex says. “Yeah, sure, yup.” He gets to his feet, and very nearly trips over the strap of Nursey’s backpack, abandoned on the floor next to the desk.

 

“Nice,” Nursey says dryly.

 

“Shut up.” Dex glances at the door. “Uh, should we…”

 

He motions at the open door. Nursey chuckles. “Yeah,” he says, reaching for his laptop. “Here, I’ll put something on--”

 

“Derek!” They both freeze as Cam’s voice reaches them from the living room. “We’re going to the Campus Shakespeare coffee house, are you coming?”

 

Nursey climbs off the bed and sticks his head out into the hallway. “Nah, we’re gonna hang here,” he calls. “Have fun!”

 

He ducks back in and closes the door, leaning against it with a thoughtful expression. “Okay,” he says. “It’s possible that they, uh. Suspect.”

 

Dex groans, dropping his head into his hand. “ _Dude_.”

 

“It’s fine, man.” Nursey locks the door and slips past Dex, reaching around him to open his laptop. “If it bothers you, I can tell them they’re off the mark.”

 

He says it casually, his eyes focused on his computer, but there’s a note in his voice that’s not...not _hurt_ , but definitely not as chill as he’s making it out to be. “Hey,” Dex says carefully, touching his arm. “It’s not that it bothers me. I’m just...it’s new, okay? And I’m not really out, so--”

 

“Hey.” Nursey looks at him, his face gentle. “It’s cool, seriously.” He hesitates. “As long as it’s not, like, that you’re ashamed of me. Because I don’t--I know it’s just hooking up, but I don’t--”

 

“Deserve that,” Dex finishes for him. He’s not sure why his stomach kind of twinged when Nursey said _just hooking up_ , even though he knows that’s all it is, but he can at least zero in on the important thing. “Dude, of course I’m not ashamed of you. I’m just still trying to figure shit out, y’know?”

 

“Sure.” Nursey shoots him a smile and taps the touchpad on his computer. A low, steady beat fills the room, deep and smooth. “Of course.”

 

Dex wants to push him on that, but something tells him it’s a bad idea. He glances at the laptop instead. “Bro,” he says. “Is this--do you have a hookup playlist?”

 

Nursey arches one eyebrow. “Do you _not_?”

 

Dex snorts. “If there’s any Barry Manilow on here, I’m not letting you come.” Nursey goes still, leaning over his desk, and Dex flushes. “Sorry. Was that not cool?”

 

“Uh,” Nursey says. He glances at Dex, and Dex catches his breath as he realizes that Nursey’s pupils are wider than they were a moment ago. “No, it’s. It’s cool. I--” He laughs, short and breathless and almost...embarrassed? “I liked that, too.”

 

All the blood in Dex’s cheeks shoots downward to pool in his dick instead. He swallows. “Okay,” he says carefully. “That’s good to know.”

 

Nursey’s tongue traces his lower lip, and Dex follows the motion with his eyes, unable to look away. He tilts his head toward the bed. “So, uh. How do you want me?”

 

Dex sucks in a breath. “I...” he starts, and then swallows, thinking about it.

 

The last time, he’d had Nursey straddling his lap, and that had been good, that had been...really good. But he wants the leverage, he wants--

 

With a rush of certainty so strong it almost makes him dizzy, he realizes he wants Nursey spread out and naked for him, pinned and wanting, begging like he had when Dex had had one hand on his hip and the other on his cock. He exhales slowly, trying to keep the weight of that visual from showing on his face, and waits until his voice feels steady before he talks. “On the bed,” he says. “On your back.”

 

Nursey’s lips part, and he stares at Dex for an instant before he nods, moving towards his bed.

 

Except--

 

“Wait,” Dex blurts out. Nursey freezes, looking back at him, and Dex blushes. “No, sorry, I just meant--should we move your blanket?”

 

“Oh.” Nursey laughs softly. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. Shit got messy last time.”

 

Dex snorts. “ _I_ got messy, you mean,” he says, getting to his feet to help Nursey pull his duvet and sheets back off his bed. “I think there was like a gallon of jizz on my shirt.”

 

Nursey laughs harder. “Not sorry,” he says.

 

“No shit,” Dex says. He tosses Nursey’s pillow back to the head of the bed, and then turns to look at him. “Take your clothes off.”

 

The laughter fades from Nursey’s face, and he whips his shirt off so quickly it nearly hits Dex's shoulder. Dex laughs despite himself, taking it from him and dropping it onto the floor, and Nursey makes a face at him. “You said take them off, not put on a show,” he chirps.

 

“Noted,” Dex says, grinning. “I’ll remember that for next time.”

 

Nursey’s hands go still on his belt buckle, and a small shudder goes through him. “Next time?” he asks, glancing at Dex through his eyelashes.

 

It’s totally a line. Dex doesn’t bother pretending he’s gonna fall for it. “Unless you trip over your pants trying to get them off--” Nursey’s jeans hit him in the face. Dex catches them as they fall off his head, grinning at him.

 

And then he feels his grin fall away, because Nursey’s standing next to his bed, stripped down to his boxer-briefs. The black fabric clings to his hips like a lover, and Dex can already see where his dick is starting to swell against it. He drags his eyes back up to Nursey’s face.

 

Nursey looks back at him, his expression a little uncertain, and he hooks one thumb into the waistband of his briefs, tilting his head to one side.

 

The question’s obvious. Dex swallows. “Yeah,” he rasps. “Lose ’em.”

 

Nursey holds his gaze steadily as he pulls his underwear off his hips, kicking them toward the laundry hamper in the corner. He’s bare and calm, miles and miles of warm, smooth brown skin.

 

Dex bites the inside of his cheek to keep from whispering, _fuck, you’re gorgeous_.

 

Instead, he takes a breath. “Like I said,” he says. “On your back.”

 

Nursey sits down on the bed like Dex has pushed him, leaning back against the pillows. He hesitates. “What do you want me to do with--”

 

“On the headboard,” Dex says. He kicks off his shoes and socks and climbs up onto the bed. Nursey draws in a breath, spreading his legs slightly, and Dex kneels between them, a little stunned by the gesture and his own ease in responding to it. He nods towards the headboard. “Come on.”

 

Nursey blinks a few times, chewing his lip again, and then reaches back with both arms, curling his fingers over the slats of the headboard. The movement makes his back arch slightly, chest spreading, and Dex watches him settle himself, rolling his shoulders and adjusting his grip on the headboard. Then he looks up at Dex. “Is this okay?”

 

“Yeah.” Dex swallows hard. “Yeah, fuck.” He settles more comfortably between Nursey’s legs, curling his hands over the smooth skin of Nursey’s bare hips. “Are your shoulders alright?”

 

“They’re fine,” Nursey says.

 

The words come out soft, a little breathless. Nursey’s looking up at him with wide, trusting eyes, and Dex’s chest feels heavy with the weight of that trust. He doesn’t--he doesn’t want to fuck this up. “Okay,” he says. He moves one hand from Nursey’s hip to his chest. “Are _you_ alright?”

 

“I’m good.” Nursey smiles, shifting his hips slightly. He's hard, Dex realizes. Holy shit. “I’m good, Dex, I’m really good.”

 

“Good,” Dex says, and Nursey shivers a little. Dex files that away--he’s not sure for what, but it feels important. He runs one hand over Nursey’s ribs and gets another shiver, Nursey shifting under his touch, and he catches sight of a tattoo he’s never seen before, text spilling vertically over Nursey’s side. It’s a lighter shade of ink than the one on his arm, a brown that almost blends in with his skin, and he leans closer.

 

That’s not English. “What language is this?” he asks, brushing his thumb over the lettering.

 

“Hm?” Nursey opens his eyes. Dex hadn’t realized he’d closed them. “Oh. Persian.”

 

“What does it say?”

 

Nursey doesn’t answer right away, and for a moment Dex thinks he’s overstepped, that he shouldn’t have asked. The tattoo is tucked along his side, where it would be covered by a shirt or Nursey’s arm, not really visible except in moments like these, and Dex wonders if maybe he doesn’t want to share it, maybe it’s just for him. “You don’t have to tell me--”

 

“‘Don’t turn away,’” Nursey says softly. “‘Keep your gaze on the bandaged place. That's where the light enters you.’”

 

He speaks quietly, but Dex hears the rhythm in the words. He’s known Nursey long enough to recognize poetry when he hears it. “Oh,” he says. He runs his thumb along the words again, and Nursey shifts to lean into the touch. “That’s…” He kind of wants to say _really beautiful_ , but that feels like too much, even if it’s true. “Who is that?”

 

“Rumi,” Nursey says. He bumps Dex’s shoulder gently with his knee. “Are we just gonna talk about my tattoos all day?”

 

Dex rolls his eyes and tweaks the nipple closest to the tattoo with his thumb. Nursey yelps and almost knees him in the face, but keeps his hands on the headboard. “Sue me for taking an interest in you,” Dex retorts.

 

Nursey grins. “You’ve already got me naked, Dex, you don’t have to sweet-talk me.”

 

Dex snorts. “See if I do it again, then,” he says. He thinks about pinching him again, but changes his mind and runs his hand down over Nursey’s abs to curl it around his dick instead. Nursey sucks in a breath and snaps his mouth shut. “Better,” he says, grinning. “Maybe I should try gagging you.”

 

“No,” Nursey says, but he’s smiling. “I’ll shut up.”

 

“Good,” Dex murmurs, just to see if he’ll get the shiver again. Nursey doesn’t disappoint, and his dick twitches in Dex’s hand, a drop of precum welling up. Dex rubs it into the silk-soft skin of the head with his thumb, and Nursey makes a small, slightly breathless sound. “Jesus,” Dex mutters, before he can stop himself. He swallows, strokes his hand over the length of Nursey’s dick again. “Do you have lube or something?”

 

Nursey blinks at him, like he wasn’t expecting the question. Dex squeezes his hand pointedly, and Nursey startles a bit. “Um--yeah.” He nods toward his desk. “Top drawer, closest to the bed.”

 

Dex lets go--Nursey gives a small huff of protest--and leans over to open the drawer. Then he pauses. “Dude,” he says. “You’ve got like four different kinds of lube in here.”

 

“Can’t use oil-based with latex condoms,” Nursey says simply.

 

Right. Dex flushes a little, because he knew that, but he’s only ever had sex with girls, and a pre-lubed condom has always been enough. Nursey, apparently, has not been as limited. He goes for the chirp instead, because like fuck is he gonna keep thinking about that right now. “Yeah, but like...how many bottles do you need?”

 

Nursey rolls his eyes. “Bite me, Poindexter.”

 

“Don’t tempt me,” Dex shoots back. Nursey grins up at him, and Dex snorts, grabbing the bottle closest to his hand and flipping the cap. “Fucking cheek on you, I swear.”

 

“You like it,” Nursey teases, and then sucks in a sharp breath as Dex wraps his hand, lube-slick now, around his cock again. “Oh. Oh-- _fuck_.”

 

His whole body seems to tremble, and Dex has to take a breath and shift his hips carefully back to keep from jerking them forward into Nursey’s.

 

He’d known from last time that Nursey’s responsive as fuck, but it’s different like this. Last time Nursey had been straddling his lap, his hands on Dex’s shoulders, and Dex had gotten to see the way his pupils got wider and the curls closest to his forehead darkened with sweat and the marks his teeth left in his lips when he bit them. It had been good, better than good, but this is _overwhelming_ , looking down at all that bare skin, seeing every jump in his muscles, watching the flex in his triceps as he grips the headboard.

 

Dex can feel the warmth from his thighs on either side of his own hips, can see the ripple of goosebumps on his skin as Dex trails the fingertips of the hand not wrapped around his cock over his waist. Nursey lets him, shivers and catches his breath and whimpers softly when Dex twists his hand gently on an upstroke, and Dex feels a little dizzy at the power he has right now, the weight and the leverage.

 

It’s fucking intoxicating.

 

His jeans suddenly feel way too constricting, and he lets go of Nursey so that he can sit back on his knees to unfasten them.

 

Nursey jerks a little at the loss of contact. “Don’t stop,” he says, his eyes losing some of their comfortable haze. “Don’t leave.”

 

He sounds almost nervous, and Dex drops a hand back to his hip. “I’m not,” he says, and flushes despite himself. “I just need to get my pants off before I totally fucking ruin them.”

 

Nursey relaxes. “Oh,” he says. He almost looks embarrassed. “Um--sorry.”

 

Dex grins. It helps, a little, to know that Nursey’s as into this as he is. “Don’t be.” He keeps his hand where it is, though, and works his jeans and boxers off one-handed, sitting back to squirm them over his hips and kick them off the bed. It feels kind of weird to still have his shirt on, but he leaves it; there’s no way he can take it off without letting go of Nursey. The lack of fabric strangling his dick feels incredible, and he wraps a hand around himself, stroking once, just to have the touch.

 

“Dex,” Nursey says, and Dex looks back at him. Nursey’s eyes are locked on Dex’s hand, and Dex grins.

 

“What do you want, Nursey?” he teases, shifting his hips forward and slotting his dick against Nursey’s. His hand isn’t quite big enough to wrap around both of them, but he does what he can, and Nursey breathes in sharply.

 

“You know what I want,” Nursey says, his voice low. He rolls his hips forward and runs his tongue over his lower lip and Dex actually stutters his hips a little, because holy _fuck_.

 

“Shit,” he mutters, and has to let go of his dick before he totally loses it. Nursey grins at him, almost a smirk, more confident than he has any right to be, and he still hasn’t moved his fucking hands.

 

“Come on, Dex, you know I’m good at it, let me--”

 

Dex squeezes his hand around the shaft of Nursey’s cock, and Nursey shuts up. “You’ll get it when you earn it,” he says.

 

And he has _no_ idea where that fucking came from, but Nursey reacts like Dex just touched a live wire to his spine. He snaps his eyes up to Dex’s. “I can,” he says, words spilling out of him in a rush. “I can, Dex, whatever you want, tell me--”

 

“Fuck,” Dex breathes, because that’s almost too much, he doesn’t know what to do with that. “Fuck, Nursey, just--hush for a second, babe.” He moves one hand, curls it around the side of Nursey’s neck, and Nursey quiets, trembling.

 

The endearment only registers in Dex’s head a second later, and he feels the flush on his cheeks creep further down his neck, but it’s already out, so, fuck it. “I’m gonna make you come,” he says softly. “And then you can suck me off, okay?”

 

Nursey’s throat moves as he swallows, his eyes still locked on Dex’s. “Yes,” he whispers. “Yeah.”

 

“Okay.” He says it almost more to himself--half to his dick, if he’s being honest, because he’s so hard it actually hurts a little but there’s no way he’s gonna let himself come yet--and takes a breath, stroking his hand gently over Nursey’s cock. “Like this?” he asks, circling his hand, sliding easily through the lube. “Or something else?”

 

“You can,” Nursey starts, and then he cuts himself off, closing his eyes.

 

Dex frowns. “Hey,” he says, dropping the hand on his neck down to his shoulder and squeezing. “Tell me what you want, Nursey.”

 

Nursey bites his lip and opens his eyes, and fuck, Dex is never gonna get tired of that color. “You can finger me,” he says, so quiet Dex almost isn’t sure he hears him right. “If you want.”

 

It takes more effort than Dex is willing to admit to not drop his jaw, moan, or come on the spot. “Jesus,” he whispers, and swallows hard, trying to get his shit together. “Is that what you want?” Nursey nods, a small, barely visible motion, and Dex shakes his head. “No,” he says, firmly, and Nursey shivers. “If you want it, ask me for it.”

 

Nursey’s lips shape the word _fuck_ without a sound, and then he shudders, his hips twitching under Dex’s hand. “I want it,” he says, voice ragged. “Dex, please.”

 

Fuck, he’s gonna die. Dex shivers like someone’s run a cold hand over his spine and ducks his head down, pressing his mouth to the tattoo on Nursey’s side because he doesn’t trust his face. Nursey shudders. When he thinks he can talk without his voice shaking, he says, “Good, okay,” and sits back up on his knees. “Where’d I put the lube?”

 

“Desk,” Nursey says, looking a little dazed and disbelieving. Dex spots the bottle and reaches for it. “There’s gloves in the drawer, too.”

 

Dex pauses, because that’s new, too, but he tugs the drawer open and pulls a glove out of a box. “Is this gonna leave that gross powdery stuff all over my fingers?”

 

Nursey laughs softly, shifting his hips. “No,” he says. “Latex-free, though.”

 

Dex raises his eyebrows, popping the cap on the lube. “Does that mean I can use this?”

 

“Means you can use any of them,” Nursey says.

 

“Fuckin’ Boy Scout,” Dex chirps, pouring some into his hand and setting the bottle down. He uses his bare hand to slick his gloved fingers, then reaches down, stroking over Nursey’s cock and balls, and then lower. Nursey’s breath hitches. “You good?”

 

“Yeah,” Nursey says, closing his eyes. “Yeah, I’m good.”

 

Dex runs the tip of his index finger over Nursey’s hole, just testing, and gets a quiet moan in response. “You’ve done this before, right?” Nursey hums and nods. “So you know what you like?”

 

Nursey opens his eyes. “Yeah,” he says. “Dex, if you don’t wanna--”

 

Dex presses his finger in, and Nursey hisses through his teeth, arching his back.

 

“ _Fu-uck_.”

 

Dex grins. “Okay?”

 

Nursey laughs, breathless. “Yeah,” he says. “Fucking--see if I try to coddle you.”

 

“I’ve fingered people before,” Dex says, which is true. He’d even hooked up with a girl freshman year who’d let him slip a finger into her ass while he ate her out. “Basic principle’s the same.”

 

“Mmhm,” Nursey manages. Dex adds another finger, pushes deeper, and Nursey catches his breath on a groan, shifting his hips closer. “Fuck, Dex.”

 

Fuck what he’d said earlier, Dex thinks, there’s no way he’d ever fucking gag him. Those soft moans and breathy gasps hit him right in his _soul_. “Yeah, that’s good,” he murmurs, just to see Nursey shiver at the praise. He’s in to the knuckles, thrusting in a slow, even motion, and Nursey’s rolling his hips up to meet him. It’s gorgeous. “You want another one?”

 

Nursey swallows. “Please.”

 

Dex bites down on a swear and slips his ring finger in next to his middle. Nursey’s groan vibrates through his body, deep enough that Dex can feel it in his wrist and in his veins, and he has to curl his other hand around the base of his dick to keep from coming. Nursey opens up for him like it’s nothing, hot and easy but still tighter than anything Dex has ever felt, and for one wild, dangerous second Dex thinks about what it would be like to fuck him for real.

 

He must think it too hard, because the next time he presses his fingers in, Nursey’s hips shoot off the bed to meet his hand. “Fuck--Dex, fuck, oh my God,” he gasps, and Dex freezes.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

Nursey sucks in a breath, his entire body shaking around Dex’s hand. “I’m good, I’m good, I’m so good, that was--” Dex flexes his fingers cautiously, the tips of two of them touching something firm, and Nursey makes a choked, desperate sound, his dick twitching and leaking against his stomach. “Dex, _fuck_.”

 

And suddenly it seems wrong that Nursey’s calling him _Dex_ , even though he feels more himself with the Samwell team than he’s ever felt anywhere else. He wants to hear his name from Nursey’s mouth, in the soft voice he’s using now. “I’ve got half my hand inside you,” Dex breathes, trying to be cool and almost definitely failing. He can hear his own voice shaking. “I think you can call me Will.”

 

“Will,” Nursey whimpers, and Jesus, Dex wants to burn this image into the back of his eyelids so that he can see it every moment for the rest of his life. “Will, please, I’m so--I’m so close.”

 

Dex has barely touched Nursey’s dick or his own since he slicked up his fingers, but he’s close, too. He swallows. “Could you come like this?” He presses his fingers deeper, and Nursey makes a sound that borders on a sob. Dex thinks his heart might beat out of his chest. “Nursey?”

 

“I don’t know,” Nursey gasps. “I’ve never--I don’t know.”

 

As much as he wants to find out, to push Nursey until he comes untouched all over himself, Dex knows his own limits, and there’s no fucking way he’ll last that long. “Guess we’ll find out next time,” he says, and grins at Nursey’s answering moan. He wraps his free hand around Nursey’s cock, working in steady strokes in time with his fingers inside him.

 

It takes a few seconds to figure out the rhythm, but when he gets it, Nursey makes a desperate sound, the muscles in his arms standing out as he tightens his grip on the headboard. “There you go,” Dex says, and his voice comes out lower and rougher than he’s ever heard it. His blood is roaring in his ears; he can’t believe Nursey still hasn’t moved his hands. “There you go, you want to come?”

 

“ _Yes_ ,” Nursey says. His eyes are so fucking bright, and he’s looking at Will with absolute trust. “Will, please, please.”

 

It’s the _please_ that gets him. Dex grits his teeth; he’s gonna be _ruined_ for anything else after this, fuck. “Yeah,” he bites out. “Come on, Derek, come for me--”

 

He barely finishes the sentence before Nursey’s arching his back and coming with a cry, shooting hard enough that he hits the bottom of his chin. “Jesus _fuck_ ,” Dex breathes; he can’t take his eyes off him. “Fuck, Nursey, fuck.”

 

Nursey shudders through an aftershock, fingers tightening on the headboard, and then he opens his eyes, glistening at the corners like he’s on the verge of tears. “Will,” he gasps. “Will, come on, I can, let me--”

 

 _Holy fucking shit_. Dex’s brain briefly goes offline, and he has to shake himself back into the present because he’s still got three fingers in Nursey’s ass and he’s not really sure if it’s okay to just--“Are you sure?”

 

“I’m sure, I’m sure.” Nursey takes a shaking breath. His hips twitch under Dex’s hand, and Dex lets go of his dick. “Will, please.”

 

“Fuck,” Dex mutters. “Alright, okay.” He pulls his fingers out carefully--Nursey still whimpers, but flashes a grin when Dex gives him a worried look--and strips off the glove, dropping it into the trashcan. He gives himself half a second to think about logistics before thinking _fuck it_ and just moving up Nursey’s body, straddling his chest. “I’m really fucking close,” he warns.

 

Nursey shakes his head. “Don’t care,” he says, looking up at Will with glassy eyes. “I want it.”

 

RIP William Poindexter, he thinks, this is how he fucking _dies_. “Open for me,” he says, and presses his dick into Nursey’s mouth the second Nursey parts his lips.

 

It doesn’t take long, and if he was any less keyed up he’d be embarrassed about how _not long_ it takes. But he’s been hard forever and he’s had Derek fucking Nurse pinned under him and doing everything he tells him and responding to his every word like a perfectly tuned instrument--there’s no fucking way he was gonna last. Nursey takes him in and deep, eyes closed and expression so soft he might as well be at prayer, and Dex barely has time to stutter out a warning before he comes, threading his fingers into Nursey’s hair and holding on like a fucking lifeline.

 

For a few minutes they’re just frozen there in a gasping, shaking tableau, Dex’s dick softening in Nursey’s mouth. Nursey’s forehead is warm and damp where it rests against Dex’s stomach, and Dex’s hands are trembling as he drags his fingers through Nursey’s curls.

 

He feels more alive than he ever has before--more than dirt biking, more than living through a storm out on the boat, more than the greatest celly on the ice.

 

“Holy Jesus fucking _shit_ ,” he manages finally. Nursey makes a sound around his dick that might be a soft laugh, and Dex reaches down to tap his jaw. Nursey relaxes enough that Dex can pull out, and he flops down onto the bed next to him. His breath still feels uneven, but he lifts his head enough to look at Nursey. “You okay?”

 

Nursey looks like he could melt into the mattress. “Great,” he says. He turns his head and smiles, eyes half-lidded. “You okay?”

 

Dex grins. “Yeah.” He sits up and reaches across Nursey for the box of tissues on the bed, and is halfway through mopping up the puddle of come on Nursey’s abs before he realizes that something’s off. “Uh, dude?”

 

Nursey looks hazily up at him. “Mm?”

 

“You haven’t moved your hands yet,” Dex says, nudging gently at one of his arms.

 

Nursey blinks, then frowns. “You didn’t say I could.”

 

The old Nursey-generated defensiveness prickles at the base of his spine. “Didn’t think I needed to, dude,” he says. Nursey’s frown deepens, uncertainty and something like hurt flickering in his eyes, and Dex feels his stomach flip. Suddenly, that feels--that’s the wrong fucking approach.

 

“Hey,” he says, careful to keep his voice gentle. “Sorry. You can move them, Nursey, that was awesome.”

 

Nursey relaxes, the frown smoothing away, and he lets go of the headboard. Then he winces. “Fuck.”

 

Dex stills, about to throw the soiled tissues in the trash. “You okay?”

 

“Stiff,” Nursey mumbles. “I’m fine.” He rolls his shoulders back, and then forward, and then sits up. He winces again.

 

“Shit,” Dex says. He throws the tissues away and moves, pushing Nursey gently forward so he can put his hands on his shoulders. “Here, c’mere.” Carefully, he digs his thumbs into Nursey’s shoulder blades, rubbing in circles, until Nursey relaxes under the touch.

 

It’s dangerously close to cuddling, especially when Nursey hums softly in contentment and drops his head back against Dex’s shoulder, and that...that feels like crossing a line, into something they haven’t quite talked about. Dex swallows and squeezes Nursey’s shoulders again, and then, just because he can’t resist, drops a quick kiss to the base of his neck.

 

Then he makes himself let go. “Better?”

 

Nursey rolls his neck, then his shoulders, and then nods. “Yeah,” he says. “Thanks.”

 

Dex shakes his head. “Don’t thank me,” he says. “I should’ve paid better attention.” He hesitates. “Seriously. Sorry.”

 

Nursey’s expression goes blank for a moment, and then he shoots Dex a grin. “It’s fine,” he says, “but if you’re gonna tie me up, you gotta promise you’ll remember to untie me at the end, or it’s off the fucking table.”

 

Dex raises his eyebrows. “Yeah?” he says carefully. “So that’s...potentially on the table?”

 

With a pointed look at the lube smeared on the bottom sheet, the pile of tissues in the trash can, and the come still streaking his chest despite that pile of tissues, Nursey says dryly, “Yeah, bro, I’d say it’s on the table.” He pauses. “Unless you didn’t--”

 

“No, I did,” Dex says quickly. “I definitely did.”

 

Nursey laughs. “You fucking blow my mind, Dex,” he says, leaning over and bumping his shoulder against Dex’s. “I wanna do it again. I want more. I liked it. Okay?”

 

Dex nods. The logical part of his brain wonders if there’s a subtle way to pinch himself, just to make sure he’s actually conscious. “Okay,” he says. He shakes his head, a soft, stunned laugh slipping past his lips before he can stop it. “Fucking hell, Nurse,” he says. “You just...fuck.”

 

“So eloquent,” Nursey chirps. He rolls out of bed. “Wanna order pizza? I’m starving.”

 

“If you’re buying,” Dex says automatically. He got over being shy about his lack of money and Nursey’s plenty of it by the end of freshman year.

 

Nursey reaches for his boxers and steps into them, looking up at Dex with glinting eyes. “Of course,” he says. “Gotta treat my man right.”

 

It’s a joke. Dex knows it’s a joke--it’s the kind of joke that gets tossed around SMH all the time, and it’s only tingling along his spine because they’ve just hooked up. Definitely not because Nursey’s eyes are green and sparkling, or because Dex knows about that small secret tattoo along Nursey’s side, or because Nursey’s hair is still tousled and soft from Dex’s fingers.

 

“Damn right, you do,” Dex says, pushing down anything close to Feelings that might be flopping around in his stomach, and bends down to find his jeans.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: Dex asks Nursey if he can tie his hands during sex, and Nursey proposes not moving his hands unless he has Dex's permission instead. Dex puts Nursey on his back and tells him to hold onto the headboard of the bed, and ends up fingering him until he comes, before he comes in Nursey's mouth. Nursey consents to everything, and they talk consistently throughout, but it's fairly clear that things are very heated for both of them, and Nursey is definitely in a very intense headspace. Afterward, Dex forgets to tell Nursey that he can move his hands, but does so as soon as he realizes. He gives him a quick shoulder rub out of apology, but no real aftercare is given.
> 
> SORRY I ACCIDENTALLY GOT SOME FEELINGS IN THE SMUT. 
> 
> Just kidding, no I'm not.
> 
> I am so, _so_ blown away by the response to this fic. The comments you have left have been totally incredible--I'm having such an awesome time exploring this dynamic and these characters, and it's been amazing reading all of your feedback and seeing that you enjoy it! 
> 
> Fun fact: One of the absolute best parts of writing this fic has been scrolling through the 2017 course listings at my alma mater (also a Boston-area liberal arts college) to get ideas for what classes Dex and Nursey might be taking. IT'S A BLAST. 
> 
> Questions? Comments? Feelings? Want to just yell at me about stuff? Come visit me [on tumblr](http://geniusorinsanity.tumblr.com)!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things get intense.
> 
> A little too intense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember how last chapter I was all, "ahaha this chapter is 9,000 words I don't know what happened"? 
> 
> This one is over 11,000 words. I may have a problem.
> 
> Note: This chapter contains bondage, a lack of communication of limits and feelings, poor aftercare, and a sub-drop. If you think any of those things might be triggering for you, _please_ read the more detailed (mildly spoilery) content warnings in the end notes.

 

They play Cornell, and it’s a shitshow.

 

The game is filthy from start to finish. Ransom takes a check nine minutes into the first period that sends him crashing head-first into the stanchion near Cornell’s bench, hard enough that the trainers pull him off the ice to check him for a concussion. Less than a minute after play resumes, Holster takes a four-minute roughing penalty for retaliating against the forward that hit him.

 

Between Ransom’s dazed eyes and Holster’s murderous expression, Hall and Murray bench them both for the rest of the game, which means Nursey and Dex end up skating thirty-five of the fifty minutes left. The coaches swap in the third-line d-pair to give them a few breaks, and give the taddies a few shots, but quickly pull them off once it’s clear that Cornell’s forwards smell blood in the water and gun for them.

 

It’s exhausting. Derek’s never realized how much they count on Rans and Holster skating at least a third of any given game--they’re first line, so it makes sense they get the most ice time, but God, he doesn’t know how they do it.

 

The scoreboard is still 0-0 when the buzzer sounds for the second intermission, and Derek drags himself back to the locker room, collapsing in his stall in a heap. “I’m dead,” he mumbles. “Kill me.”

 

He hears the solid _thump_ as Dex drops down into the stall next to him, and opens his eyes. Dex looks as dead as he feels, but about a million times madder, his fair skin flushed and furious under his freckles and a sheen of sweat on his cheeks. “Hey,” he says, bumping his knee against Dex’s. “You good, bro?”

 

“Fucking pissed,” Dex mutters. “Have you heard half the calls they’re making out there? It’s bullshit.”

 

Derek hums in tired agreement, groping for his water bottle. The refs have been slamming Samwell _hard_ , and it’s been wearing on all of them. Fucking _Bitty_ took a penalty for high-sticking. Derek had never seen Eric Bittle so close to cussing someone out in his life. It would’ve been amazing to watch, if he hadn’t been so pissed off himself. “Score’s still tied,” he offers. “That’s something.”

 

Dex snorts. “Yeah.”

 

Holster comes back from where he’s been back in the trainer’s room with Ransom. He still looks pissed, but not as murderous as he did earlier. Derek sits up a little straighter, ready to ask after Ransom, but Bitty gets there first.

 

“Is he okay?”

 

“Pretty sure he’s not concussed, but they’re gonna put him on watch for the next twenty-four hours anyway because he blacked out for a minute,” Holster says, sitting down in an empty stall. “He’s pissed, but he gets it.”

 

Bitty nods, chewing his bottom lip. He’s texting, but not looking at his phone. “What about you?”

 

Holster flushes a little, but he shrugs one shoulder. “I’m out as long as he’s out,” he says.

 

Dex raises his eyebrows. “Hall doesn’t trust you not to go Rambo again?”

 

“It was a fucking legal check,” Holster snaps. Dex stares him down--a little impressively, Derek thinks, but probably because he’s pissed enough himself that Holster being angry about Ransom isn’t gonna set him off--and Holster huffs out a sigh, slumping back. “Rough,” he allows. “But fucking legal.” He pushes a hand through his hair. “Anyway, since Tinney’s our alternate and he’s still out from his ACL thing, I don’t have a sub. So.”

 

He glances at Dex and Derek again, and this time, his eyes are a lot softer, almost proud. “You guys have been fucking rocking it out there, though,” he says. “Seriously. I don’t don’t know what you’ve been doing, but your chemistry is off the fucking charts.”

 

Dex inhales his next sip of water and chokes on it. Derek thumps him on the back while he coughs it out of his lungs. “Just trying to live up to you guys,” he says, glad that no matter how hot his cheeks feel, no one can tell he’s flushing like crazy. “Is Rans gonna be able to watch the last period?”

 

“Hope so,” Holster says, with a faint smile.

 

There’s a rap at the door, and a middle-aged man Derek recognizes as Cornell’s assistant coach pokes his head in. “Boys,” he greets. “Three minutes to ice.”

 

Holster gives him a nod that’s probably a little more curt than it normally would be to a hosting team’s official, and the coach ducks out again. Holster gets to his feet. “I’m gonna grab Rans,” he says. “Win this one for your caps, eh, boys?”

 

“Fuck yeah,” Derek says. He’s forcing the enthusiasm a little, but it’s worth it for Holster’s grin.

 

The third period’s as brutal as the first two. Cornell’s left winger nets a nasty slapshot that gets past Chowder’s gloves, and Nursey’s just close enough to the crease to hear the string of furious swearing that follows. He winces.

 

Samwell gets possession after the next faceoff, and Bitty whips it out of the neutral zone with his usual speed. One of Cornell’s d-men rushes him, and Derek cuts him off with a quick body check. The guy curses him out but stays on his feet, and Derek loses track of him a moment later as Whiskey sends the puck his way. He glances up, looking for an opening, and catches sight of Tango, circling back into Cornell’s zone. Derek jerks his chin up, sees Tango jerk a quick nod in response, and fires the puck toward him.

 

The puck’s barely left his stick when something heavy and fast slams into him from the side. He hits the boards so hard the air leaves his lungs in a rush, and before he knows it, he’s down on the ice.

 

He hears the shrill blast of a whistle, signaling a penalty--fucking _good_ , he thinks, _Jesus_ \--and pushes himself up to his knees with a wince, rubbing his side gingerly. He’d hit the boards shoulder-first, mostly protected by his pads, but the guy who’d hit him had gone for his ribs. Derek inhales carefully, testing, and sighs in relief when he only gets a dull ache, not the immediate sharp stab that would signal a break.

 

Skates scrape across the ice and skid to a stop in front of him, and he glances up into Dex’s worried eyes. “You okay?” he asks, kneeling down.

 

“I’m good, I’m fine.” Derek shoots him a grin he hopes is reassuring. “Just winded.”

 

Dex breathes out a sharp breath of relief, and then shoots a glare at Cornell’s d-man, currently getting chewed out by his coach in the penalty box. “He’s fucking dead when he gets back out here,” he says darkly.

 

“Dude.” Derek puts a hand on Dex’s helmet, shakes him firmly. “It was a dirty check, but I’m okay. This game’s already a piece of shit, the last thing we want is the taddies skating the rest of it.” He makes grabby hands. “C’mon, help me up, we got a game to win.”

 

Dex makes a face, but gets to his feet and helps Derek to his just as the ref skates over to them. “Alright, son?” he asks Derek.

 

Derek nods, reaching for his stick, abandoned on the ice when he’d fallen. “Good, sir.”

 

“You hit your head at all?”

 

Jesus, they’re taking this concussion shit seriously. “No, sir.”

 

The ref nods. He sticks his whistle back in his mouth and blows a short blast, then signals something to the linesmen. Two other refs start signalling the coaches to put teams back into play for the next faceoff.

 

Derek glances at the clock. Fourteen minutes to go.

 

Fucking hell. He looks at Dex. “You got this, man?”

 

Dex looks back. “If you do,” he says.

  
With considerably less enthusiasm than they had at the beginning of the game, they bump fists, and skate over the blue line.

 

But none of it fucking matters, because they still lose.

 

Whether it’s the low morale from losing Ransom in the first period or the fact that half of Cornell’s team is built like Holster and is just as hard to get past on the ice, they can’t seem to get their shit together to score, and they finish the game 0-1. Samwell takes what feels like twice as many penalties as Cornell, and the mood in the locker room when they leave the ice is subdued and simmering with fury.

 

As he packs his pads away, Nursey thinks about dry tinder, about fraying rope, about newspaper scrawled with expletives. The slightest touch of a match, and they all go up in flame.

 

His shower helps, the hot water easing some of the aching exhaustion from his muscles. His side groans at him in protest when he presses cautiously at the skin where Cornell’s d-man hit him, and he hisses a little through his teeth, taking his hand away. It’ll be bruised tomorrow, he thinks, and makes a mental note to ice it tonight when he gets back to the hotel.

 

Well…

 

Derek shoots a covert glance at Dex, showering next to him, his expression set and rigid. He hasn’t stopped looking livid since the final buzzer sounded, and his shoulders haven’t lost any of their tension. Derek almost opens his mouth to say something, and then thinks better of it.

 

But maybe he won’t ice his side right away.

 

They pack up their shit and pile back onto the bus for the short ride to the hotel, lounging moodily in the lobby while Lardo does her manager thing and gets keys at the front desk. The coaches and trainers talk quietly with Holster and Ransom, who’s leaning a little heavily against a wall but is refusing all of Holster’s obvious attempts to force him into a chair.

 

Everyone else gathers around the couches near the coffee machine, drinking shitty coffee and waiting for keys. Chowder methodically destroys a Styrofoam cup while Bitty looks on anxiously. Dex slumps down on the couch next to Derek, staring resolutely at his phone, and Derek finds himself wanting to lean against him, but knowing now’s not the right place for it.

 

“Chowder,” Bitty says cautiously, when Chowder finishes reducing one cup to dust and reaches for another one. Chowder doesn’t look at him. “Don’t you think--”

 

“Bits,” Derek says. Bitty glances at him, and Derek shakes his head. “Leave him.”

 

Bitty’s lips thin, and he huffs a little, sitting back against the couch cushions and taking his phone out of his pocket.

 

Probably tweeting. Derek loves him, but he can be a passive aggressive little shit.

 

Lardo comes back with keys and starts distributing them. Dex barely waits for confirmation that he and Derek are sharing before he takes their keys from her, striding off toward the elevators. Derek shoots Lardo an apologetic look and slings his bag over his shoulder, wincing a little at the impact of his hockey gear against his bad side as he follows Dex.

 

“ _Dude_ ,” he says, the second the door to their room closes behind them. “What the _fuck_? I get you’re pissed about the game, but you can’t be a dick to Lardo, man. We need her to live.”

 

“I’m not--” Dex blows out a sigh, throwing his bag down and crossing his arms, anger pouring off him like steam. His hair’s still a little damp from his shower, and Derek wants, weirdly and furiously, to run his hands through it. It’s not a helpful thought. “I would’ve been more of a dick if I stayed. I’m just fucking--”

 

He makes a strangled sound, and twists his hands in the air, the universal _I wanna wring somebody’s neck_ gesture, and Derek gives him what he hopes is a placating smile. “I know, dude, I get it, but you need to chill the fuck out.”

 

“I don’t wanna chill the fuck out,” Dex bites out. “I wanna fucking punch a ref.”

 

Derek shakes his head. “Tough shit,” he says. Dex’s skin is still flushed pink, from anger or the game or the lingering heat of his shower or some combination of all of the above, and Derek can’t help himself; he drops his stuff and steps into Dex’s space, puts his hands on Dex’s waist. “You gotta direct that energy somewhere else, man,” he murmurs.

 

Dex flinches, which--okay, not the reaction he was hoping for. He closes his hands over Derek’s wrists, which _is_ the reaction he was hoping for, but then pulls Derek’s hands away from his waist. “I know we’ve been getting into some shit, Nursey, but I’m sure as fuck not gonna hit _you_ ,” he says.

 

His tone is caught somewhere between appalled and concerned, and Derek stares at him for a moment in confusion before he laughs, startled. “Dude, no,” he says, shaking his head. “That was--that was not what I meant.”

 

Dex frowns. “Then what--” Derek raises his eyebrows and looks pointedly down at Dex’s grip on his wrists, and his skin, if possible, flushes an even deeper pink. “Oh. _Oh_.” He swallows. “Great as your blowjobs are, Derek, I don’t know if that’s gonna cut it right now.”

 

Derek cocks his head to one side. He’s never been one to back down from a challenge. “Okay,” he says. “So what do you need?”

 

Dex blinks. “What?”

 

“I’m your friend and your d-man, Dex,” Derek says, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m not gonna leave you alone when you’re pissed like this. It’s my job to be there for you. But you gotta tell me what you need. You wanna order a pizza and get one of the seniors to get us some beer? I’ll spot us. You wanna watch some shitty movies on Netflix? You pick. I’m good with either of those options.” He holds Dex’s gaze. “But I’m your fuckbuddy, too. So you’ve got another choice.”

 

There’s a beat of silence, thick and heavy between them. Dex licks his lower lip, his amber eyes darkening slightly as he looks at Derek. “What--” he begins hoarsely, and then he swallows, starts again, his voice stronger. “What’s on the table?”

 

Derek grins. That’s promising. “What do you want?”

 

“I…” Dex hesitates. His gaze flickers briefly over Derek’s shoulder--Derek’s not really sure why; the only thing there is the closet--and his lips part, his cheeks flushing a shade darker before he looks back to Derek’s eyes. He looks uncertain.

 

“Hey,” Derek says softly. He reaches up, curls one hand over the side of Dex’s neck. They’ve never stood like this, he realizes. It’s intimate, close. His skin is tingling. “Ask me, Will. The worst I can do is say no.”

 

Dex huffs out a soft laugh, dropping his hands to Derek’s hips. He squeezes slightly, and it sends a thrill through him, all the way up his spine. Derek shivers. “The bathrobes in the closet have rope belts,” Dex murmurs, his voice low and rough. “And I want--”

 

“Yes.”

 

The word slips past Derek’s lips before he realizes he’s saying it, but even as he does, he realizes he means it. He’s not sure if he wants it for himself or if he just wants it for _Dex_ , but Dex’s breath catches the second Derek says it, his jaw dropping, and Derek starts babbling, because he knows he wants that reaction _always_. “Yes. Will, you can. Yes.”

 

“Fuck, Nursey,” Dex mutters. He takes his hands off Derek’s hips and grabs his wrists again, pulls him away from the door, further into the room until they’re sitting on the closest of the two beds. Derek goes willingly, stumbling slightly over his feet. “Just--Jesus. Are you sure?”

 

“I’m sure--”

 

“ _Derek_.” His voice is stern, and Derek stops, bites his lip. Dex is still flushed, but there’s a hint of apprehension on his features now, despite the arousal in his eyes. “Are you _sure_? Last time, you said you didn’t want…”

 

Derek takes a breath, deep and slow, to clear his head. “I’m sure,” he repeats. “That was then. This is now. I’m good, Dex.”

 

Dex nods slowly, and then he exhales a shaking laugh. “God,” he says. “Jesus, Nursey, you’re a fucking gift, you know that?”

 

That sends a warm, pleasant tingle down Derek’s spine, and he can’t help smile. “Bet you say that to all the boys,” he chirps, trying to keep his melting heart off his face, and Dex grins.

 

“There aren’t any other boys,” he says, nudging Derek’s foot with his own. He hesitates. “If we’re gonna do this, we should have, like--People have safe words for shit like this, right? If they want to stop?”

 

Derek frowns, anxiety prickling along the veins in his wrists where Dex is still holding him. “You wouldn’t stop if I just said stop?”

 

Dex looks--not offended. Almost horrified. “Dude--I would. Of course I would.” He squeezes Derek’s wrists, and Derek thinks it shouldn’t be soothing, but weirdly, it is.

 

It freaks him out, sometimes, how well Dex knows him.

 

“I just meant...There’s _stop_ , like, slow it down, take a break, but there’s also _stop_ , like, stop everything, I’m freaking out.” He looks at Derek closely, like he’s trying to make sure he understands. “You know what I mean? I just want to make sure I know which one you’re saying, if you say it at all.”

 

“I…” Derek looks down at his hands, at the contrast of Dex’s pale fingers around the dark skin of his wrists. He feels something warm and tender kindle in his chest at the idea that Dex--even post-game pissed and still tingling with barely-restrained anger and tightly-coiled tension--wants him to feel safe. “Okay,” he says, and relief floods Dex’s face. “What do I pick?”

 

“I don’t think it’s up to me, man.” Dex loosens his grip a bit around Derek’s wrists, and Derek kind of wishes he hadn’t. “Something you’ll remember, I guess. Maybe something you associate with feeling safe. I think that’s a thing.”

 

Derek considers that. The idea of words as _safe_ isn’t strange to him--he’s a writer; words have always been his refuge. But picking just one… “I don’t want to pick the wrong one.”

 

Nervousness creeps into the edges of his voice as he says it, and he kind of hates himself for that, for sounding so vulnerable when he’s trying to be chill, trying to be the one to get Dex to settle.

 

Dex frowns slightly, leaning closer to him. “Hey,” he says. “Why are you freaking out about this?”

 

“I don’t know,” Derek admits. He doesn’t. It just feels… “I don’t want to fuck up.”

 

“You’re not gonna fuck up,” Dex says, squeezing Derek’s wrists. Derek _feels_ himself settle at that, the pressure and the tightness. He closes his eyes, and hears Dex draw in a breath. “Huh,” he murmurs, soft, thoughtful. Derek opens his eyes, and sees Dex looking at him, almost pensive. “Hey,” he says. “Do you trust me?”

 

Derek blinks. “Yeah,” he says. “Of course I do.”

 

Dex nods. “Okay,” he says. “Then get on your knees for me.”

 

It’s not what he’s expecting, not even slightly, but Dex’s voice is firm--it’s not an order, but he doesn’t leave any room for argument. Derek moves before he even really realizes it, sliding off the bed and onto the floor, his knees making contact with the hotel carpet with a dull _thump_ that sends a tingle up through his nerves. He settles back onto his heels and breathes out, his shoulders loosening automatically, and feels his breath tremble slightly as it leaves his lungs.

 

It feels...good. Grounding.

 

“Good,” Dex says, low and approving, and the word sits warm in Derek’s stomach. “Do--Do what you did with your hands, that time you waited for me.”

 

Derek lets his hands rest on his knees, palms up, and curls his middle fingers in to touch his thumbs. _Patience_.

 

“Okay.” Dex slips one hand into Derek’s hair and tilts Derek’s head up to look at him. He looks calmer than he has all night, his face intense but not _angry_ , not anymore. “I’m gonna get some stuff together,” he says. “You stay here, and think about what word you want. Keep your hands where they are. When you’ve got your word, put them behind your back. If you need to move, tell me.” He pauses. “No. If you _want_ to move, tell me. Okay?”

 

Derek nods.

 

Dex snorts. “Words, Nursey.”

 

Derek swallows. “Okay,” he says.

 

“Good,” Dex says again, and Derek smiles, probably like an absolute fucking idiot, because something about that word in Dex’s voice just-- _does_ something to his insides, makes them all melty and soft. Dex’s lips twitch up and he combs his fingers through Derek’s hair once before he gets to his feet, leaving Derek alone.

 

The loss of contact disorients him a little, and Derek closes his eyes, pressing his thumbs and fingers together more firmly to ground himself. Focus, he tells himself, _focus_ , Dex gave you a job.

 

 _Something you associate with feeling safe_ , Dex had said. That doesn’t really give him much to work with--he’s a queer brown New Yorker with an anxiety disorder; _safe_ isn’t really his thing. He gets snippets of the feeling from time to time: on fresh ice, in the Haus, in drafty bookstores and old libraries, curled up in the living room at home with his moms. Lately, he gets it pressed up against Dex’s side in the locker room or the dorms or the gross couch in the Haus.

 

He tries to think of single words that go with any of those things, and keeps coming up short. Dex’ll probably kill him if he goes with _Blue Line_ or _Neruda_ , and anyway, neither of those are really _right_ , not really. He chews on his lower lip, listening to Dex move around the room, the steady gait of his footsteps, the creak of the mattress as he bends over the bed, the sound of the zipper of his duffle bag.

 

He’d read somewhere once that scent was the strongest sense when it came to triggering emotional sensory memory. It makes sense, he thinks; he can call to mind the scent of a locker room after a win and think _joy_. The smell of ink and dust and cracked pages is _peace_ ; the scent of pizza grease and stale beer and fresh pie is _friendship_.

 

What conjures _safe_?

 

As soon as he thinks the question, he knows the answer.

 

His moms have used--and shared--the same perfume his whole life, a sweet, floral jasmine blend his maman has used since college. When he was four, he’d spilled a bottle on the carpet in their bedroom, and it had sunk into the fibers, the soft, sweet scent permeating deep and setting in before his nanny at the time had been able to rush in and blot it up, scolding him gently. After that, when one or both of his moms was traveling--which was more often than not, as much as he knew they loved him--he would creep out of bed sometimes, dragging a blanket behind him, and curl up on that rug, letting the scent lull him to sleep.

 

When he started at Andover, he’d take the throw blanket that lived on the end of his bed at school and spray it a few times before each semester, letting the scent sink into the fabric. On the days when the homesickness and depression and anxiety got to be too much, he’d wrap himself up and just _breathe_ , inhaling _home_ and _comfort_ and _love_ , until the tightness in his chest loosened and he could be a person again.

 

He takes a breath, and carefully uncurls his fingers, rolling his shoulders once and then bringing his hands behind his back. He pulls his right wrist into his left hand.

 

Across the room, there’s a sharp intake of breath, and then Dex’s footsteps draw closer. A warm palm rests against his cheek, and Derek instinctively leans into it. “Open your eyes,” Dex murmurs. Derek does, looking up at him. Dex has taken off his tie and jacket, has unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt. He looks…

 

He looks gorgeous, Derek thinks, and hates himself for thinking it. He can justify wanting to choke on Dex’s dick more often than not as just physical attraction. But looking at his best friend and thinking _gorgeous_ \--

 

 _The act of falling in love,_ his stupid, traitorous, brain supplies for him, _is not so much a falling as a desperate, terrifying leap off the highest building around._

 

Dex smiles at him, the softest expression Derek’s seen from him since they took to the ice. “Hey,” he says. “Got your word?”

 

Derek swallows. “Yeah,” he says.

 

“What is it?”

 

“Jasmine,” Derek says.

 

He doesn’t realize, until the word has left his lips, that he’s handing over something fragile and precious. Dex mouths the word slowly, like he’s tasting a fine wine. “Jasmine,” he says, and Derek likes the way the it sounds in his voice, like it’s something to be treasured and held close. “Okay.” He looks at Derek intently, studying him. “And you’ll use it, if you need to?”

 

Derek nods. He tilts his head to one side. If the motion brings his face more firmly into contact with Dex’s hand, well, whatever. “Do you think I’ll have to?”

 

Dex shakes his head. “I don’t want you to have to.” He crouches down, though, until his eyes are level with Derek’s, and his hand slips back, away from Derek’s cheek and into his hair. His expression is intense, his amber eyes hot and blazing. “But I don’t really feel like being gentle with you,” he says, and a feeling Derek can’t even identify shoots through his veins. “So I want to know you’ll tap out, if it’s too much.” His voice softens. “I don’t want to hurt you, you know?”

 

Derek swallows, his mouth dry. He feels--he doesn’t know. “I’ll use it,” he says. “If I have to. I promise.”

 

Dex’s lip curls. “Good,” he says, and the word settles in Derek’s belly, low and warm and heavy. “You ready, then?”

 

For what, Derek doesn’t know. He feels anxious and overwhelmed and aroused and eager, all at once. “Yeah,” he breathes, and Dex grins, fierce and hot.

 

People always seem to be surprised that Dex plays hockey when they meet him, probably because, out of his pads and gear, he’s all lean muscle that can easily be mistaken for skinniness. Derek knows better, knows the coiled strength that lurks under the flannel shirts Dex loves so much, knows how Dex uses people’s underestimation of his speed and power to his advantage.

 

Still, it catches him off-guard when Dex takes him by the arms and fairly throws him onto the bed, in a show of strength Derek doesn’t usually see him from him, despite Derek’s considerable muscle mass. Derek hits the bed with a muffled yelp of surprise, and Dex laughs, confident and sure as he climbs onto the bed after him, pushing Derek onto his back.

 

Derek goes pliant for him, letting Dex straddle his hips. Dex’s nimble fingers move to the knot at his throat, undoing his tie, and Derek watches his face instead of going cross-eyed trying to watch his hands. “Just this, for now?” he chirps, trying to assert a little bit of chill--he knows it’s futile, that Dex is gonna take him apart, but he’s gotta make an attempt.

 

Dex chuckles, finishing with the knot and tugging Derek’s tie free of his collar. “For now,” he says, tossing it over his shoulder and making quick work of the buttons on Derek’s shirt. “Up,” he instructs, and Derek sits up automatically, not bothering to use his hands--good as he knows his abs look, they aren’t just for show--and Dex pushes his jacket and dress shirt off his shoulders and arms. Before he can sit back, Dex tugs on the hem of his undershirt, and Derek lifts his arms so that Dex can pull it over his shoulders.

 

“Good,” Dex murmurs, and pushes on the center of Derek’s chest. Derek lets himself flop back down, his head landing smack in the middle of a pile of pillows. He doesn’t doubt for a second that Dex put them there. Considerate motherfucker.

 

“Arms over your head,” Dex instructs, and Derek lifts them automatically, crossing his wrists against the pillows. Dex runs his hands over Derek’s sides, just touching him, just looking, his eyes hot, and Derek tries not to be embarrassed by how quickly it’s turning him on.

 

Then Dex’s hand presses a little too firmly into the place on his side where Cornell’s forward had slammed into him during the game, and Derek hisses through his teeth, flinching away. Dex jerks his hand back. “What?”

 

“Hurts,” Derek says.

 

Dex frowns. “I barely--Oh, shit, you took that hit there.” He puts his hand back, but his touch is gentle, curling his palm and fingers over the spot, like a balm. “You should’ve said, man. I didn’t know it was that bad.”

 

Derek shakes his head, feeling a twinge of embarrassment. “It’s not,” he says. “It’s gonna be bruised to shit tomorrow, but it’s fine. Just don’t, like, poke it or anything.”

 

“I won’t.” Dex’s hands leave his sides altogether as he trails his fingers up and over Derek’s bare arms, then wraps them around his wrists. “Gonna tie your hands now,” he says, looking intently at Derek’s face, like he’s searching for any sign of disagreement. “Cool?”

 

“Cool,” Derek says, even though he’d rather have Dex just hold onto his wrists forever--something about that grip just does something to him, melts his insides into something soft and pliant and easy and able to just _be_. But that’s not really practical, so he figures tying them is probably just as good.

 

Dex grins like Derek’s just given him the world on a fucking platter. “So fucking good, Nursey, God,” he breathes. He lets go of his wrists to reach over Derek’s head, and Derek cranes his neck back so that he can see what he’s doing. While he was kneeling, Dex must have taken the rope belts off of the bathrobes in the closet, because they’re currently tied to the headboard.

 

Something must show on his face, because Dex cocks an eyebrow at him. “You’re good?”

 

“Yeah, I’m good.” Derek grins up at him. “You don’t have to check every second, Dex.”

 

“Will,” Dex says. “And I’m gonna, till I’m sure.” He smiles back, though, and then loops the rope around Derek’s wrist.

 

Derek raises his eyebrows. “ _William_ ,” he says. “Did you Google bondage knots, or something?”

 

Will laughs. “I spend my summers on boats, Nursey. I know how to tie a decent knot.” He tightens it, then says, “Pull?” Obediently, Derek tugs against the rope, but the knot around his wrist doesn’t tighten. Will nods, looking pleased. “Okay, good. You want your other one free, or are you okay if I do both?”

 

“You can do both,” Derek says. He feels...Good. Really, really good. A little floaty, a little strange, but _good_. God, he’s never sunk down this fast before. “Feels good, Will.”

 

“Good,” Will murmurs. He takes Derek’s other wrist, ties that one, too, and then strokes the fingertips of one hand along Derek’s cheek. “You like it, yeah? Being like this? Held down, giving up control?”

 

Derek hums his agreement, turning his face into Dex’s hand. “Yeah,” he says. “I like it.”

 

And he does, is the thing. He’d thought he wouldn’t, had thought having his hands tied would scare him. After all the nannies and babysitters and start-of-semester goodbyes at Andover he has more abandonment issues than he knows what to do with (even though he knows, he _knows_ , that his moms love him, and he loves them too, with everything he is and everything he has); he has an _everyone’s gonna leave me_ complex that runs long and deep.

 

When Dex had first suggested tying his hands he’d felt a stab of panic that Dex would tie him and leave him, get distracted, or tired of him, or, worst of all, finally reveal that he’d been playing with Derek this whole time.

 

But instead he feels good, feels held and safe and secure. Dex has him, and if he does freak out, Dex’ll let him tap out.

 

He swallows, inhales carefully, and looks up. “So,” he breathes. “What now?”

 

Will bends his head down, ducking into the crook of Derek’s neck and scraping his teeth along Derek’s collarbone. Derek sucks in a sharp breath. “Honestly?” Will draws back and looks down, his eyes dark with arousal. “I want to fuck you. You up for that?”

 

Derek’s heart stutters in his chest, and his dick gets hard so fast he actually gets dizzy. “Jesus,” he chokes. “Will.”

 

Dex grins. “Is that a yes?”

 

He tries to figure out a way to say yes without sounding too eager for it, but he’s always been an easy bottom. And even if he wasn’t, having Dex’s fingers in him last time had nearly killed him and he’s jerked off to the memory more often than he’s willing to admit. Dex’s gaze on him is hot and heavy and Derek wants to give him _everything_. His head feels like it’s spinning, floaty and high. “Yes,” he whispers. “Yes. Will, _yes_ , please. Whatever you want. Whatever you need.”

 

“God,” Will murmurs, and he drags his fingers down Derek’s sides, over his ribs. “You’re so fucking good, Derek, Jesus.”

 

The praise sings through Derek’s veins and he grins, bright and pleased. “There’s, uh, stuff in my--”

 

“I brought stuff,” Will reaches over to the nightstand, and Derek follows the motion. Dex’s toiletry kit is already unzipped, and he pulls out a bottle of lube and a ziplock bag with a few gloves in it.

 

Derek feels his grin soften into something a lot gentler. “Aw, Dex,” he says.  


“Shut up,” he says, flushing. “It’s not just ’cause of you, you know, I had to listen to all of Shitty’s safe sex lectures last year, too.”

 

“Sure,” Derek says, waggling his eyebrows.

 

Will chuckles. He shifts back, off of Derek’s hips, and reaches for Derek’s belt. Derek lifts his hips without being asked and Dex works his pants and boxer briefs off his legs, then huffs in annoyance when he gets stuck around his shoes. “Dammit.”

 

“Oops,” Derek says. He starts to sit up to help, then gets caught on his bound hands. “Uh--”

 

“Oh, shush, I’ll do it.” Will unties the laces of Derek’s dress shoes and pulls them off, along with his socks, then pulls his pants the rest of the way off.

 

As if on an afterthought, he sits back to take his own shoes and socks off as well, then unfastens his own belt, pushing his own pants off. He pulls his shirt and undershirt off, then slides his hands up the inside of Derek’s thighs, and Derek spreads his legs so that Dex can settle between them.

 

Will seems to get distracted then, bending forward so that his erection presses against Derek’s. It’s a hot, dry friction, and he wraps a hand around both of them, strokes in one long, slow motion. Derek bites back a groan, and Will laughs, low and heady. “Hey,” he says. “What have I said about that?”

 

Derek swallows. “You like to hear me,” he says.

 

“Yeah, I do.” Will grins, stroking over them again before he lets both their dicks go, reaching back for the bag on the nightstand. He opens the ziplock and pulls out one of the gloves, tugging it on and flipping the cap on the lube. For the first time that night, he falters. “I, uh,” he says. “I’ve never done this.” Derek raises his eyebrows, and Will flushes. “I mean, I’ve done _this_ part, obviously, but not--”

 

“I have,” Derek says, flashing the hint of a grin, and Will snorts.

 

“Believe it or not,” he says, “that doesn’t actually make me feel much better.”

 

Derek brings his legs up, drapes them around Will’s waist, and tugs him down. “Hey,” he says. “You already know how to make me feel good, man. And you’re not gonna hurt me. It’s gonna be fine.”

 

Will furrows his brow. “How do you _know_ I’m not gonna hurt you,” he says, more of a grumble than a question, but he pours lube onto his gloved fingers, reaching down between Derek’s legs.

 

He strokes the tip of his forefinger over Derek’s hole, and Derek doesn’t bother stifling his moan. “Because,” he breathes, shifting his hips down to try and get more pressure, “You care. And you like making me--”

 

Dex pushes in, and Derek loses the rest of his sentence. Will grins and crooks his finger up, the tip of it just grazing Derek’s prostate, and Derek whimpers. “Fuck,” he gasps. “You been studying, Poindexter?”

 

“Nah,” Will says, his teeth flashing in the lamplight. He slides out and then pushes back in, not quite rough but not gentle either. Derek catches his breath, tilting his hips up. “Good,” Will murmurs. “Yeah. _Fuck_ , that’s hot. More?”

 

“Yeah,” Derek whispers. He tries to reach forward, to put his hands in Will’s hair, but the knots hold fast. He bites his lip and lets his hands fall back onto the bed, trying to calm the rushing in his pulse. “Yeah, _please_.”

 

Dex gives him another finger, and it’s an ache, but the good kind. Derek closes his eyes, tilting his head back and breathing through the stretch. His breath shakes and rattles, and Will groans softly. “God,” he says. “So good. You open up so good for me, Nursey.”

 

“Derek,” Derek whispers, without opening his eyes.

 

“Derek,” Will agrees, thrusting gently with two fingers, and Derek’s heart pounds in his chest. Will’s lips brush over the tattoo on Derek’s ribs, feather-light, and Derek feels an almost mortified pang because there are actual tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. Maybe someday, if this thing between them ever becomes more than just friends with benefits, he’ll tell Will what the tattoo represents, when he got it and why, but just that _touch_ , the softness of it--

 

“Hey.” Will’s free hand touches his cheek. “Derek?”

 

He opens his eyes.

 

Will’s eyes haven’t lost any of their intensity, but there’s a flicker of worry in them. “You good, baby?”

 

The endearment drops into Derek’s heart and lodges there, and Derek takes a breath, then another, and then nods. “I’m good,” he says. “I’m good.” He rolls his hips to make the point, and Will’s breath hitches, his hips stuttering forward and his dick twitching visibly. “C’mon, I can take another.”

 

“Not about what you can _take_ ,” Will says, but his eyes darken at Derek’s words, pupils dilating.

 

It’s an obvious reaction, and Derek can’t even pretend to ignore it--or that it doesn’t turn him on, to know that Dex likes this, likes _pushing_ him, likes taking him apart. “Isn’t it?”

 

Will flushes, and he draws his fingers out, pushes back in again with three. The stretch of that is intense enough to punch a groan out of Derek’s chest and he arches his back, trying to get closer, to get more, and Will curves his other hand over Derek’s hips. “Easy,” he says. “Let me.”

 

“ _Will_ ,” Derek bites out. He pulls against the ropes holding his wrists, but he can’t get anywhere with that, so he presses his knees to Will’s sides instead. He gets that Dex doesn’t want to hurt him, and he appreciates it, but slow is making his skin crawl--it’s not _enough_ , not enough sensation, not enough impact. “Will, _come on_. Thought you weren’t gonna be gentle.”

 

Fire flashes in Will’s eyes. He pulls out and then drives all three of his fingers into Derek’s prostate hard enough that sparks flash behind his eyes, bright and brilliant.

 

Some kind of sound makes it out of Derek’s body--maybe Will’s name, maybe God’s, maybe Allah’s, he doesn’t even know--but when his vision is normal again, Will’s grin is hot and wicked. “Hard enough for you?”

 

Derek opens his mouth to try and respond, but Will keeps moving his hand, and the words just can’t make it past his lips. “I--I--” He whimpers. “ _God_.”

 

“Good, baby,” Will says roughly, thrusting his fingers in again, and Derek’s next moan comes out high and breathless. “You’re so good.”

 

“I want--” Derek breaks off before he can finish, because he doesn’t really even know what the end of the sentence is, but he knows he wants...fuck. “Will, c’mon, I want--I want…”

 

Will grins, twisting his hand, and the sound that leaves Derek’s throat might not even be human. “Want me to fuck you?”

 

“ _Please_.”

 

It’s half a sob and he almost hates himself for it, for how desperate it is, _fuck_ , he should be cooler than this. It’s like Will tied his hands and sapped away every ounce of _chill_ in Derek’s body. “Fuck,” Will hisses. He draws his fingers out, yanking the glove off and dropping it over the side of the bed without even looking, fumbling a condom out of his toiletry bag. He tears the packet open so quickly Derek’s a little stunned he doesn’t rip it.

 

Will must have the same thought because he pauses, studying the condom for a moment. Derek lifts his head up. “We good?”

 

“Uh…” Will squints, still inspecting, then looks up. “Yeah, we’re fine.” He gives Derek a slightly sheepish smile. “Sorry. I got a little, uh…”

 

Derek laughs, some of the intensity dimming from his nerves, and he bumps his knee against Will’s shoulder. “’s cool, long as it’s not broken.”

 

“Nah, it’s fine.” He shifts back so he can roll it on, then reaches for the lube again, pouring some into his hands and slicking himself up. His face goes slack and then tense and Derek can’t help watching him as he strokes a hand over his dick, spreading the lube over the condom and rocking his hips slightly into his fist.

 

Fucking gorgeous, Derek thinks, his head spinning.

 

After a few strokes, Dex pulls his hand away with a groan, wrapping one hand around Derek’s thigh. “You still good?” he asks. He’s breathless, his eyes dark, and Derek catches his breath when he feels the blunt head of Will’s dick press against him, just a brush, testing. “Shoulders okay?”

 

“I’m good.” He’s shaking, he realizes, a little belatedly--he doesn’t know when that started. But he wants this, he wants it _so much_ , not just to have Will inside him, but to see the rest of the tension finally ease itself out of Will’s shoulders, to let Will get as lost in sensation as Derek feels. “Will, c’mon, come on, fuck me, please.”

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Will hisses, and presses forward.

 

The oxygen leaves Derek’s lungs in a rush. This kind of fullness is always a new feeling at first, and Will’s big, and it’s intense, and it’s good, it’s so fucking good. He chokes out a whimper and Will drops digs his fingers into Derek’s hips and bites out, “Fuck, _fuck_ , Derek, Jesus, fuck,” buried balls-deep but holding himself so still Derek can’t stand it.

 

“Will,” he says. Whines, really; he can admit that. “Will, come on, _move_.”

 

“Jesus, Nursey,” Will grits out, tightening his grip on Derek’s hips. “Fuck. Don’t you need to--like--adjust--”

 

“I need you to _fuck_ me,” Derek says, pressing his legs to Will’s sides, trying to tilt his hips to get Will deeper. “Come _on_.”

 

Will hisses through his teeth and pushes Derek’s hips down onto the mattress, pushing into him at the same time. “ _Stop moving_ ,” he says, and Derek freezes at the sharpness in his voice, his own hands curling into fists. Will’s been firm with him, been commanding, and he’s liked that, but he’s never been sharp, he’s never snapped, and he doesn’t like that, that’s not--

 

Something must show on his face, because Will’s expression softens immediately. “Sorry,” he murmurs. “I just--” He flushes. “I was gonna come, if you kept that up.” He brushes his thumbs over Derek’s hip bones. “You okay?”

 

Derek nods, a little shaky. “Need you,” he says, because that’ll fix the sudden prickling under his skin, he’s sure of it. “Need you, Dex, please.”

 

Will’s lips curl into a slow smile. “Fucking insatiable.” He pulls out and then thrusts back in, slow but with intent, and Derek closes his eyes, letting himself sink into the feeling of being filled. Will might not have done _this_ before, but he’s no blushing virgin, either; he knows what he’s doing and he sets a steady pace, hard thrusts that send sparks dancing out from Derek’s spine.

 

But he can’t--he can’t get back into that headspace he was in before. Something feels _off_ , feels weird. He’s still hard, he’s still turned on; he still _wants_ this, still wants Will, but he feels anxious in a way he didn’t before. Will’s thrusts are deep and intense and they’re lighting him up from the inside out, but there’s something that’s missing.

 

Their bodies are only touching at the hips and where Dex’s dick is pounding into him, and Derek’s only other contact is the rope around his wrists, soft but holding firm. He feels overwhelmed and unmoored, all at once, unanchored and drifting.

 

He’s got a safe word, he remembers, _jasmine_ spiraling through his mind with the clarity of a musical note. He’s just not sure if he _needs_ it, he just--he just--

 

He _can’t_. “Stop,” he chokes out.

 

Will goes still. “Derek?”

 

Warm hands cup Derek’s cheeks, thumbs stroking gently over his cheekbones. “Hey,” Will says, his voice gone soft. “Hey, hey. Derek. Open your eyes, baby. Come on. Look at me.”

 

Derek forces his eyes open, and has to blink a few times until his vision clears. Shit. _Shit_ , is he fucking crying, he’s such a fucking disaster--

 

“There you are,” Will says, so gently. All his earlier anger has bled out of his features as completely as if it had never even been there, replaced by an incredible sort of tenderness. “Are you okay? You want to stop? Want me to pull out?”

 

“I…” Derek swallows. He knows he just has to say the word, but now that Will is touching him, everything feels okay again. Safer, calmer. Settled.

 

“Derek,” Will says again, looking at him closely. God, Derek thinks, a little dizzily, those _eyes_. “Do you want me to untie you? Do you want to stop? You gotta talk to me, babe.”

 

Derek licks his lips. “No,” he decides. “No, just…” He takes a breath. “Can you just...Just touch me more? I feel like I’m...like I’m not _here_.”

 

It’s a mess of a sentence; he’s a mess of a person, but Will just smiles, strokes his thumbs over Derek’s cheeks again. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, here.” He shifts forward onto his forearms, bracketing Derek’s head, his chest pressing down against Derek’s, warm and solid and heavy. “Better?”

 

“Yeah,” Derek breathes. It is better. _So_ much better. It feels like something’s loosened in his chest. “Yeah, Will.”

 

Will drops his head forward, resting his forehead against Derek’s. It’s a soft touch. Intimate. “Can I move?”

 

“Please,” Derek whispers, and Will grins.

 

Will can’t fuck him as hard like this but he gets just as deep, and something about the new angle sends a wave of heat and arousal through Derek’s nerves with every thrust. “Oh fuck,” he gasps, dropping his head back, and Will bends down, scraping his teeth over Derek’s neck. “Oh, _fuck_ , fuck. _Will_.”

 

“Yeah.” Will draws back just far enough to look at him, picking up one hand and pushing Derek’s sweaty hair back. Derek pushes his head into the touch with a moan, and Will exhales a shaking breath. “ _Fuck_ , Derek, you take it so well, I can’t--” He shudders on his next thrust, his entire body trembling. “Fuck. Gonna come so soon.”

 

“Want you to,” Derek gasps. Sparks dance and jump up and down his spine, God, he’s on fire.

 

“Not yet.” Will shifts, separating their bodies just enough that he can wrap a hand around Derek’s dick, hard and slick against his stomach, and Derek’s whole body jerks--he’s been hard for so long he’s almost forgotten about it, too lost in his head to think about his dick.

 

“Fuck!” Derek clenches his hands, thrusts his hips up, driving himself down onto Will, partly to get him deeper, partly to hear Will’s sharp intake of breath. “Fuck, fuck, fuck--”

 

“Yeah, sweetheart, that’s so good,” Will says, and it’s almost a purr, the way he rumbles it against the skin of Derek’s neck.

 

Derek’s eyes start stinging again at the endearment, the way it falls so easily from Will’s lips like he doesn’t even think about it. He can’t, he can’t, _God_ , it’s too much. He can feel his orgasm building in the base of his spine, deep and overwhelming the way it always is when he comes like this, like he doesn’t even know where it’s coming from, like he’s trying to fight an unstoppable wave that wants to wash him out to sea. “Will, please--I _can’t_ \--”

 

Will presses his lips to Derek’s neck. “You can come for me,” he says, so rough Derek can hear the strain in it, “come on, Derek, want to feel you come on my dick, come on--”

 

And Derek’s _gone_ , coming so hard he can’t even breathe, stars exploding behind his eyes and Will’s name spilling out of his mouth in a sound somewhere between a sob and a scream and a prayer.

 

“Fuck, Derek, that’s so--fucking incredible, you’re so--you’re--oh, God, oh _fuck_ ,” Will gasps. He comes on a groan, burying himself deep and dropping his head into the crook of Derek’s neck, jerking and shuddering through it. Derek turns his cheek into Will’s hair, still trying to catch his own breath, his legs still locked tight around Will’s waist.

 

He feels higher than he’s ever felt in his life, dazed and floaty and almost drunk. His skin tingles a little, sweat starting to dry, and there’s a gross amount of come pooling between his stomach and Will’s. He can’t make himself care. He never wants to move. He never wants Will to let go of him.

 

Will does, though, picking up his head and propping himself up on his forearms. His face is flushed but relaxed, all of his earlier tension long gone. “Jesus _fuck_ ,” he says. “That was--God, Derek.” He brushes Derek’s sweaty hair back with both his hands, the movement tender. “Are you okay?”

 

“I’m good,” Derek says. The words slur out a bit, like his mouth doesn’t quite want to work right, but Will doesn’t chirp him for it. “I’m so good, Will.”

 

For a long moment they just...look at each other, still pressed together all along the length of their chests, Will still hard enough inside him that he hasn’t slipped out. Derek can’t take his eyes away from Will’s, can’t stop looking at the soft, almost amazed expression on his face. His pulse feels like it’s racing, even though it should be slowing down, and he knows it’s got nothing to do with exertion.

 

“Will,” he murmurs, and Will starts to bend toward him, almost hesitantly, and Derek’s heart nearly leaps out of his chest.

 

And then a drop of sweat falls off Will’s nose and lands on Derek’s cheek, and the moment breaks. “Shit, sorry,” Will laughs, swiping it away with his thumb.

 

“Gross,” Derek whines, squirming, and Will laughs harder.

 

“Stop wriggling, dude, c’mon. I’m not going condom spelunking if you make me lose this thing.” Derek makes a face at him, but stops moving so Will can pull out and tie off the condom. He drops it into the trash can--Derek’s got no clue if there was already one next to the bed or if Will moved it before they started, but either way, _props_ for good planning--and then, after a moment’s hesitation, settles back in the cradle of Derek’s hips. “Gonna untie you, okay?”

 

Derek nods. Now that the adrenaline is starting to fade, the pressure of the rope, soft as it is, starts to feel like too much. Will reaches over his head, untying his wrists one at a time. The knots seem to come undone without much difficulty, and Derek automatically pulls his arms down to rub at his wrists.

 

“Here,” Will murmurs. “Let me.” Derek blinks, kind of surprised, but lets Will rub gently at the indentations the cloth made on his skin. Will snorts. “You don’t have to look so shocked.”

 

“I’m not _shocked_ ,” Derek protests, even though he kind of is.

 

Will lets him go too soon, in Derek’s opinion, but anything would be too soon. He’s flushing. “I almost fucked your shoulders up last time. Didn’t want to do it again.”

 

He rolls off--Derek tries not to miss his warmth immediately--and grimaces as he sits up. “Ugh. This is gross.”

 

In any other circumstances, Derek would drag him back down and smush him back into the puddle of come, just to be a dick. But he feels a little weird now that Dex isn’t touching him anymore, so he just...stays. “Sorry,” he says.

 

It comes out in a mumble, and Will reaches down and ruffles his hair. “I’ll take it as a compliment,” he says, and rolls off the bed. Something in Derek’s chest screams at that, wants to reach out and shriek _don’t don’t don’t_ , and he shoves that down _hard_ , because--what the _fuck_ , brain? “Gonna shower real quick. You good?”

 

“Toss me my water bottle?” Derek manages. Will bends down and pulls it out of Derek’s bag, throws it to him, and Derek fumbles the catch. Will shoots him a weird look, but shakes his head in what Derek hopes is amusement before padding off to the bathroom.

 

As soon as the door closes behind him, Derek flips the cap on his water bottle and downs half of it, then puts it on the nightstand and curls up on his side. He feels suddenly exhausted, like the worst crash after a high, and just…

 

Pulling the the nearest pillow into his arms, he hugs it tight, pushing his face into it. It doesn’t do anything to ease the sudden clinginess that’s swept over him, or the prickling over his skin. Absently, he reaches up to pull one of the ropes closer, running his fingers over the cloth, hoping that might ground him, but the memory of how it had felt around his wrists just makes him feel hazier.

 

He closes his eyes and tries to focus on his body instead, how loose and fucked-out he feels, but that just reminds him of how easily Will had left, and that sends an ache through his chest that he doesn’t think has anything to do with whatever’s going on in his head.

 

The shower turns off, and a minute later, he hears the bathroom door open. “Shower’s free,” Will calls, the words a little garbled.

 

Derek opens his eyes and lets go of the pillow, sitting up. Will’s got a towel wrapped around his waist, his toothbrush stuck in his mouth. He cocks an eyebrow as Derek stumbles a little clumsily out of bed, his legs wobbly and not really wanting to support him, and turns back into the bathroom to spit toothpaste out of his mouth. “You okay, dude?”

 

“You try it from my end and see how well your legs work,” Derek grumbles, trying to play it cool. It must work okay, because Will laughs, rinsing off his toothbrush and dropping it into a cup near the sink while Derek turns the shower on. “Shoo, man, I’ve gotta pee.”

 

Will rolls his eyes but leaves, and Derek closes the door after him, leaning against it for a moment until his head stops spinning again. He’s not quite dizzy, he’s just…

 

Derek swallows, shoving his hair off his face. He’s fine. He’s good. He’s cool.

 

He pees and showers quickly, the hot water feeling weirdly sharp on his skin, like he’s too sensitive for it. By the time he gets out he’s shakier than he was when he got in, and he spends a minute leaning against the bathroom counter after he dries off, looking at his reflection in the slightly steamed mirror.

 

When Derek finally gets out of the bathroom after brushing his teeth and convincing himself not to fall over, Will’s gotten into the room’s other bed, lying on his back under the covers and scrolling through his phone. Derek pulls a clean pair of boxers out of his bag and steps into them, then grabs his phone and charger. He allows himself a moment of hesitation, then thinks _fuck it_ and sits down on Will’s bed, plugging his phone into the outlet beside the other nightstand before flopping down next to him.

 

Will raises his eyebrows. “Uh,” he says. “Nursey? What the fuck?”

 

Derek looks up at him. “You’re gonna make me sleep in the bed that’s covered in come and lube, seriously?” Will looks like he’s actually considering it--because he’s a _dick_ , ugh, Derek has the worst fucking taste in dudes--and Derek widens his eyes at him in mock-disbelief. “After I let you tie me up and fuck me to get all your post-game anger and adrenaline out?”

 

Will snorts. “You’re _not_ subtle,” he says, but he puts his phone down. “What’s next, dude, cuddling?”

 

“I mean, if you insist,” Derek says, grinning up at him, like that’s not exactly what his skin’s been screaming for ever since Will pulled out of him and got off the bed. Will starts to roll his eyes, but Derek shifts closer to him and grabs his arm, wrapping it around his own shoulders and curling himself up against Will’s side, draping his arm over Will’s chest.

 

He can feel Will’s heartbeat under his hand, and it quickens as he presses closer.

 

“Bro,” Will says. His voice sounds almost strained. “Seriously?”

 

Derek closes his eyes. If his eyes are closed, he thinks, he can just focus on the contact between his bare skin and Will’s grounding and safe and close. “Seriously,” he says, forcing his voice to easiness. To _chill_. “Turn the light off, dude, it’s way past bedtime.”

 

Will’s silent for a moment, and then he huffs out a sigh and shifts, turning off the lamp next to the bed. The light Derek could still see behind his closed eyelids disappears, the room plunging into darkness. For another minute or so, Will is stiff against him, and then he sighs again, slumping down and squirming a little into the pillows, wrapping his arm more securely around Derek’s shoulders, tugging him a little closer.

 

“Hey,” he says. “Nursey.”

 

Not _Derek_ anymore, Derek thinks, and tries not to let that twist in his stomach. “Yeah?”

 

“Thanks. For tonight. It was…I’ve never felt like that. But I don’t think I could have done it with someone I didn’t…” He trails off, and then squeezes his arm. “Just. Thank you. For giving that to me.”

 

Derek doesn’t really know what to say to that, because tonight was...so much more than he’d been expecting--so much better in some ways, fucking terrifying in others, totally and completely overwhelming.

 

And he’d do it all again.

 

He curls his hand over Dex’s ribs. “You’re welcome,” he says.

 

It doesn’t really feel like the right response, but Will hums, his hand drifting up and scritching gently at Derek’s hair for a moment. “Okay,” he says. “Go to sleep. Got a text from Holster that breakfast is at eight tomorrow. I set an alarm.”

 

“Okay,” Derek mumbles, letting his body sink down into the bed. Between the game and the sex he’s exhausted, mentally and physically. His skin is still kind of prickling a little--he wants to wrap his entire body around Will’s like some kind of weird kink koala, or have Will press his whole weight down over him, not enough to smother, just enough that Derek can feel secure, settled, safe.

 

Instead, he leans into Will’s side, and focuses on the pressure of Will’s arm over his shoulders. As he slips down into sleep, too tired to think anymore, he tries to convince himself that it’s enough.

 

He sleeps through Dex’s alarm in the morning, and wakes up groggy and disoriented when Dex sits down on the side of the bed and shakes his shoulder. “Wha--”

 

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Dex says dryly.

 

Derek looks up at him. His head feels like it weighs a thousand pounds, and takes a lot of effort to lift it off the pillow. “What time is it?”

 

“Seven forty,” Dex says. Derek groans and lets his head fall back down. Dex shakes him again, and Derek’s skin erupts into pins and needles at the touch of his hand. “Come on, dude, breakfast is in twenty minutes. You gotta get up.”

 

“I don’t wanna,” Derek mumbles into the pillow. He feels like shit, exhausted and drained and weirdly... _small_ , like he wants to just curl up in a ball under the blankets and just kind of cry. It feels like the beginnings of a slip into a depressive episode, only instead of a slow slide, he’s just woken up and _crashed_.

 

Dex frowns. “Dude,” he says, leaning down and pushing Derek’s hair off his face. “Are you okay? You’re not getting sick, are you?”

 

Derek wants to press his face into Dex’s touch, wants to reach out and grab his hand and pull him back into bed. He hates that the concern in Dex’s voice is probably only friendly, even though it’s soft and almost tender. He forces the ache in his chest down. “No,” he says, pushing himself up, dislodging Will’s hand as he does. “No. I’m fine. See? I’m up.”

 

Dex’s brow furrows, but he gets to his feet. “Okay,” he says, still sounding a little uncertain. “You want me to wait for you?”

 

“No, that’s okay.” Derek shoves a smile onto his face, hopes it doesn’t look too much like a grimace. “I know how pissy you get when you’re late to coffee.”

 

“Yeah,” Dex says doubtfully, eyeing him with what looks like suspicion. “But--”

 

“I’m fine, Dex.” Derek gets out of bed, just to show that he can. “See? This is me, getting up, going to shower. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

 

Dex snorts. “Alright, dude. You’d better not pass out in there.” He reaches out and tousles Derek’s hair--Derek’s chest _hurts_ \--and bends down to pick up his hockey bag, duffle, and backpack from the floor, shuffling his way out of the room.

 

As soon as the door closes behind him, Derek sinks back onto the bed, shivering.

 

What the _fuck_ is going on with his body? He doesn’t just feel anxious and shaky, he feels-- _vulnerable_ , like something’s stripped away the outer layer of skin that protects him from the world and left him overexposed and raw. His emotions are going crazy, anxiety skittering along his nerves like a live wire, and his throat feels tight, like he could cry if he let himself think about it too much.

 

He takes a careful breath, then another. He doesn’t know what this is, but he doesn’t have time for it.

 

The bathroom is still a little steamy from Dex’s shower, but Derek catches his reflection in the mirror and winces, turning on the water. The skin on his side has blossomed into purples, and he touches the bruise gingerly with trembling fingers. The pain grounds him a little, and he exhales through it. His wrists are faintly bruised as well, but those marks are barely visible--Dex had been careful not to tie him too tightly, and he hadn’t pulled as much as he’d expected to. There’s some redness visible against his skin, a little irritation, but the soft cloth hadn’t rubbed him raw like a real rope would have.

 

Small miracles, he guesses, and climbs into the shower.

 

The hot water makes his head spin even more, and by the time he makes it out of the room, dressed and mostly staggering under the weight of all his shit, he feels even worse. He drags himself into the elevator and leans against the wall for the ride down to the lobby, wondering if maybe he can skip breakfast and just get right onto the bus. Or maybe he can just sleep on one of the couches in the lobby until it’s time to leave.

 

He gets out of the elevator, hitching his hockey bag further up on his shoulder, and is making his way down the hall when he crashes into Holster.

 

“Whoa, dude!” Holster grabs him by the arms, steadying him before he can crash to the floor. “You okay?”

 

Derek gets his feet back under him, but finds himself leaning into Holster’s grip before he can really stop himself. He swallows hard. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

 

Holster frowns, leaning down to study his face. “You don’t look fine,” he says. Shit, Derek thinks, that’s his Captain Voice. “Dude, are you alright? You look like you’re gonna freak out or pass out and I can’t figure out which.”

 

“I…” Derek tries to come up with an answer that’ll throw him off the scent, but when it comes to shit like this, Holster can be as bad as Bitty--worse, sometimes, because he’s got the ability to literally hold people in place until they tell him what’s wrong. “I’m…”

 

Something in his voice or his face must give him away, because Holster’s expression sets to determination. “Okay,” he says. “C’mere, gimme your shit.” He takes Derek’s hockey bag and slings it over his shoulder, then takes Derek’s arm and pulls him over to the couch by the elevators. “Sit,” he says.

 

Derek’s knees give out and he sinks down like Holster’s pushed him, his head swimming.

 

“ _Oh_ ,” Holster says, quietly.

 

Derek braces himself for another question and doesn’t think he’ll be able to handle answering it. His breath is shaking, rasping through his lungs, and but a second later, one of Holster’s broad hands is on the back of his neck, squeezing firmly, the other on his shoulder, forcing him to sit up straighter. When had he slumped forward?

 

“Nursey,” Holster’s saying. His voice is steady and calm, and Derek locks onto it like a lifeline. “Nursey, concentrate on my voice, okay? Take a deep breath in.” Derek takes a deep breath in. “Good. Now breathe out.” Derek breathes out. “Good. Do that again. Three more breaths.” Derek takes three more breaths, in and out.

 

“Good,” Holster says, gentle and approving. “Now look at me.”

 

Derek picks his head up. Holster’s looking at him with a soft, strangely knowing expression, and even as Derek feels his face flush, Holster squeezes the back of his neck more firmly. “You’re okay,” he says calmly. “I’ve got you.”

 

“I--” Derek opens his mouth to protest, to make some excuse, to say he doesn’t know what Holster’s talking about, but the words die in his throat, and he just ends up taking another breath, rattling and shaky, and digging his fingers into the couch cushions. “I--I’m…”

 

His eyes start to sting and prickle again, but Holster doesn’t look fazed, so much as he’s starting to look slightly furious. Unlike last night at the game, though, he seems like he’s trying to keep the anger from showing on his face. “Nursey,” he says. “Has this ever happened to you before?”

 

Not trusting his voice, Derek shakes his head.

 

“Okay.” Holster squeezes his neck again. It’s a grounding touch--not sexual, just firm and securing, and Derek leans into it, closing his eyes. Holster runs his thumb along the side of his throat, reaching into his pocket for his phone with his other hand. “I need to know who it was, Derek.”

 

Derek makes himself swallow. “Who what was,” he says. It’s a stupid, half-assed attempt at playing dumb, and he knows it.

 

Holster narrows his eyes. “Nursey,” he says. “Do _not_.”

 

His voice is flat, the edges tinged with disapproval, and Derek can’t fucking help it--the tears he’s been fighting back all morning start falling, and before he knows it, he’s crying, his head dropped into his hands, trying to wipe the tears away as quickly as they’re falling.

 

“Hey, hey, hey hey hey.” Holster’s voice is softer now. “I’m not mad, Nursey, I’m not mad. But you need to tell me what’s going on. I need to know, because this isn’t okay. You’re not supposed to feel like this. I--”

 

“Dex,” Derek chokes out.

 

Holster stills. “What?”

 

“It’s Dex,” Derek whispers. The words force their way out of him, and they hurt. This hurts. _Everything_ hurts. “I--It’s been Dex.”

 

“Okay,” Holster says. He adjusts his grip on the back of Nursey’s neck, but doesn’t take his hand away. “Tell me what’s going on.”

 

Derek takes a trembling breath, and starts to talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warnings: Dex is angry after losing a game, and Nursey offers to let Dex tie his hands. There is a discussion about safe words, and Nursey agrees to safeword out if he needs to. Sex progresses, and Nursey sinks fairly quickly into what could be considered subspace, and while Dex checks in multiple times and Nursey gives consistent verbal consent, meaningful consent could be considered compromised. There is a point where Nursey should probably safeword, and chooses not to, though he does briefly throw on the brakes. Dex unties him as soon as they're done, and checks in, but aftercare is minimal at best. In the morning, Nursey experiences a pretty significant drop, and (understandably) freaks out.
> 
> \--
> 
> I GOT YOU A CLIFFHANGER BECAUSE I AM MEAN AND YOUR FEELINGS ARE MY SUSTENANCE. 
> 
> A few further notes on kink practice, because I'm everyone's mom and I can't NOT:  
> \- Do not do things just because your partner wants to do things.  
> \- Do not engage in BDSM practices when you are highly emotional.  
> \- Just because someone doesn't safeword out doesn't mean they are okay to continue.  
> \- PROVIDE. AFTERCARE.  
> \- Basically: These boys are so dumb. DO NOT DO WHAT THEY ARE DOING.
> 
> Now that that's out of the way: HOW 'BOUT THOSE FEELINGS, EH?
> 
> I pinky promise they'll talk about them in the next chapter. I PROMISE. (Also: Don’t be mad at Dex, guys. He’s trying so hard. He really is.)
> 
> The poem that Derek's "stupid traitorous brain" quotes to him while he's lovingly contemplating Dex's face/chest/dick is "Not So Much Falling In Love As Leaping Into It", by Meggie Royer, which is a bittersweet, lovely piece and can be read [here](http://wordsdance.com/2013/07/not-so-much-falling-in-love-as-leaping-into-it-by-meggie-royer/).
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who continues to leave comments and kudos. <3 <3 <3
> 
> Feels? I'm [on tumblr](http://geniusorinsanity.tumblr.com).


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is miscommunication, and then communication.
> 
> A lot of communication.
> 
> And also kissing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS TOOK AN ETERNITY I AM SO SO SORRY.
> 
> See the end notes for content warnings.

“POINDEXTER.”

 

Ransom’s booming voice cuts through the sleepy morning buzz of the dining room, and only two and a half semesters of experience keeps Dex from dropping his coffee. He does slosh some of it over his hand, and hisses through his teeth as he puts his cup down and gropes for a napkin, looking up in time to see Ransom approaching his table. “Rans, what the _shit_ ,” he demands, wiping hot coffee off his hand.

 

Ransom looms over the table, his expression set in the way Dex usually only sees it when they’re going into the third period down two points and he needs the team to get their shit together. “Come with me,” he says, looking at Dex with dark, almost angry eyes. “ _Now_.”

 

Dex blinks at him. “Dude, what the fuck?”

 

“Now,” Ransom repeats, his tone leaving no room for argument, and Dex knows not to push his luck twice. He gets to his feet, leaving his coffee and breakfast and ignoring Chowder’s confused look, and starts to bend down to grab his bags. “Leave your shit,” Ransom says. “We’ll come back for it.”

 

He turns on his heel and starts out of the hotel’s dining room, and Dex shoots a bewildered look at Chowder before following him. As they head down the hallway, he tries to figure out what the fuck he could have done to make Ransom look at him like this—he didn’t fuck up last night on the ice; his grades are way over where they need to be for his scholarship; so what...

 

They hit the hallway, out of earshot of the rest of the team, and Ransom rounds on him. “Did you sleep with Nursey last night?”

 

Dex gapes at him. He doesn’t know what the fuck he was expecting, but that’s nowhere close. “I—did I— _what_?”

 

Ransom crosses his arms. “Answer the question, Dex.”

 

He says it flatly, like he already knows the answer, and something strange and unhappy curls in the bottom of Dex’s stomach. _Wrong_ , the feeling says, even though he can’t really place it; _wrong, something’s wrong_. He swallows. “Yeah,” he says, shoving past the discomfort. “Yeah, I did. Why?”

 

Ransom’s expression doesn’t change. “And it was consensual?”

 

Dex stares, his brain churning slowly while it tries to connect Ransom’s words to the implication in them, and then he flinches, horrified. “The _fuck_? Of course it was!”

 

“He never told you to stop?”

 

“He—” Dex breaks off, face heating up as he thinks back to last night. There had been _so much_ , heat and intensity and _wanting_ , but in the middle—“He...Once. Yeah.” He gropes behind him until he finds the wall, leans against it, remembering the look on Nursey’s face when he’d gasped out _stop_ , how quickly he’d relaxed under Will’s hands when he’d brought them up to touch him. “But he was okay. We talked; he was okay. He told me to keep going.”

 

Ransom narrows his eyes. “You’re sure?”

 

Dex’s ears go hotter at the memory. “Pretty fucking sure, yeah.” He squares his shoulders, defensiveness winning out over embarrassment. “What the fuck, Rans, what is this about?”

 

“Making sure your stories matched up,” Ransom says, and then takes his arm. “C’mon.”

 

“The fuck—?” Dex makes a half-hearted attempt to stay put, but Ransom has about twenty pounds of muscle on him, and drags him off down the hallway back towards the elevators.

 

He stops short.

 

Holster and Nursey are sitting on one of the couches by the elevator bay, pressed closer together than Dex has ever seen them, and for a second, something weirdly possessive shoots through him at the sight of Holster’s arm tucked over Nursey’s shoulders. And then he realizes that Nursey is shaking, his head bowed like he’s crying, and Dex’s stomach drops.

 

“Nursey?” He’s moving forward before he even really realizes his feet are moving, but Ransom’s grip tightens on his arm. “Rans, let go—”

 

Ransom holds him fast, though, and Holster looks up, eyes flashing. “Dex, sit down.”

 

“Don’t tell me what to do, Holster,” Dex snaps, pulling against Ransom’s grip. He can’t take his eyes off Nursey, _wrong wrong wrong_ beating frantically through his pulse. “I need to—”

 

“You don’t need to do anything right now,” Holster says sharply, “except sit down and listen to me.” Nursey flinches slightly, and Dex prickles, tuned into the movement like it was his own, but Holster’s already tightening his arm around him. “I’ve got him. Sit.”

 

“Fuck you, Holster, you’re not his boyfriend,” Dex retorts, still struggling.

 

“Neither are you,” Holster snaps, and Dex stops fighting, because—fuck. “Now sit _down_.”

 

There’s a note of firm, cool command in his voice, and Dex swallows, sitting down on the couch across from Holster and Nursey. Nursey’s head is still down, and Dex can’t stop looking at him. He knows Holster’s looking at him, but he ignores him, leaning forward. “Nursey,” he repeats. “ _Derek_. Are you okay?”

 

Nursey lifts his head and looks up at him with red eyes and a wrecked expression, and gives the smallest shake of his head. Dex’s heart jumps into his throat.

 

“Dex,” Holster says. His voice is gentler now, but there’s still an edge to it. “Nursey said you guys have been playing around with bondage, dynamics, stuff like that. Is that right?”

 

Any other time, he’s pretty sure he’d be mortified. Right now, he’s too stuck on the look on Nursey’s face, so he just nods.

 

Holster keeps looking at him, even as Ransom settles down on the couch next to Dex. “Have you done any research into how to practice that safely? At all?”

 

“We had a safe word,” Dex says, a little defensive, because they _had_ , and that had seemed so important last night. And he’d checked in, and Nursey had told him he was okay, had asked for more, he was _sure_ —

 

Holster stares at him for a moment, and then he turns his face to the ceiling like he’s going to start praying. “They had a safe word,” he says, his tone vaguely disbelieving. “Oh. That fixes everything. Jesus fucking Christ.”

 

“Adam,” Ransom says, warning. Dex shoots him a surprised look, but Ransom’s looking at Holster and Nursey, not at him.

 

Holster huffs out a sigh, and then squeezes Nursey’s shoulders before turning back to Dex. “Okay,” he says, voice strained, like he’s trying very hard to keep himself calm. “A safe word is a good start. That’s—important. But Dex, dude, you...There’s so much more to it than that. You need to know what you’re doing, otherwise—” He gestures to Nursey with the hand not slung around his shoulders. “This happens.”

 

Dex can’t stop looking at the tremors in Nursey’s shoulders, the redness in his eyes. “I don’t know what this _is_ ,” he says, and the words come out nervous and uncertain. “But I...Derek, I thought you were _okay_. You told me you were okay.”

 

“I thought I was,” Nursey says hoarsely. His eyes glisten slightly, and Dex wants to throw up.

 

“It’s called a drop,” Holster says. He shifts his arm from around Nursey’s shoulders, moving so his hand is curled over the back of Nursey’s neck, and he squeezes, gently. Nursey closes his eyes, his shoulders relaxing slightly, and that weirdly possessive snap goes through him again. Dex tries to force it down. “He told me you tied him up last night?”

 

Dex swallows. “Yeah.”

 

Holster nods. “That stuff can get intense,” he says, his gaze flickering to Ransom. “Not just between people, but on a chemical level. It’s...” He pauses, and then shakes his head. “Rans, you know it better.”

 

Dex startles, glancing to his left. Ransom looks miles calmer than Holster, though still a little uncomfortable. He leans forward slightly, lacing his fingers together and letting his hands dangle between his knees. “It’s chemical,” he agrees, looking seriously at Dex. “I could get into the science of it, if you want, the flight/fight shit and the sympathetic nervous system, but basically, it’s all the warm and happy chemicals in your brain getting overloaded at once. You get into this sort of mental space—it’s different for everyone, but sort of floaty, euphoric.”

 

He glances at Nursey, and his expression goes gentler. “Right track, bro?”

 

Nursey nods. Dex remembers the first time they talked about this... _thing_ between them, when it was just Nursey on his knees for him in Dex’s dorm room, a quiet conversation on a moving bus—Nursey murmuring, soft, _I like the way it makes me feel_. “Yeah,” Nursey says, looking down at his hands. “Yeah. Right track.”

 

Dex takes a breath, but Ransom just shoots him a warning look before nodding at Nursey, a slow, knowing motion. “It’s a good space,” he says gently. “Like, it feels good to be in. But it’s risky.” He glances at Dex, and his eyes lose some of their softness. “It can get overwhelming, and it can get intense, and if you get too deep, you can’t really think straight. And if you fall out of that space too fast, it’s like dropping off a high, and your whole body can just freak the fuck out. So you really, really need the person you’re with to be keeping an eye out.”

 

“I thought I _was_ ,” Dex says, and all the guilt in his gut spills out into his voice, shit. “I swear to God, I thought I was. Nursey, I _asked_ you.”

 

Nursey presses his lips together, closing his eyes, and Dex feels worse. Holster glances at him, and then shakes his head. “Asking’s good,” he says, looking at Dex calmly but steadily. “But consent is more than just a yes, Dex, come on. You know better.” He pauses. “You do know better, right?”

 

Dex feels sick. “Yeah, I just thought I—” He breaks off, trying to get himself under control. He fucked up, holy shit, he—“Fuck, Derek, I’m so sorry, I thought—”

 

“It’s not your fault,” Nursey says, looking up at him. He still sounds hoarse, exhausted, but there’s an underlying iron in it. “Dex, I _told you_ I was okay. You’re not a mind reader.”

 

Ransom nods. “You’re not, and you shouldn’t have to be,” he agrees. Holster frowns and opens his mouth, and Ransom shoots him a sharp look. “No, Adam, that’s not his job. Dex, it’s—you gotta watch. You watch and you listen and you pay close attention, and sometimes you pull the plug even if he says he’s fine because he might not realize he’s _not_ fine, but Nursey’s right, you’re not gonna catch everything. Okay?”

 

Numb, Dex nods. He’s pretty sure it’s a moot point—he can’t imagine that Nursey’s ever gonna let him touch him again. He’s not sure if he can ever let _himself_ —

 

_Fuck._

 

“It’s not just during,” Holster says. He’s still holding Ransom’s gaze, but he breaks it to look at Dex. “Drops like this are worse when there’s no transition after a scene. What you guys did last night—you _gotta_ ease down from it, otherwise there’s going to be a crash like this.”

 

Dex replays last night in his head, trying to picture Nursey’s reactions, and his stomach sinks as he goes through what had happened after they’d both come: the brief, almost pained expression that had flickered over Nursey’s face when Dex had rolled off him before he’d smoothed it away, the way Nursey had stumbled slightly when he’d gotten out of bed, the slight tremor in Nursey’s hand when he’d pulled Dex’s arm around his own shoulders.

 

The way he’d looked this morning, his eyes barely focusing, his features caught somewhere between vulnerability and uncertainty, like there was a question on the edge of his lips that he didn’t know how to ask.

 

“I didn’t know,” he whispers. He forces himself to look at Nursey, but Nursey doesn’t look back. “Derek, I swear, I didn’t know—I would’ve, if I’d known what you needed.”

 

“Which is why you shouldn’t be doing this shit before you’ve learned about it,” Holster says firmly.

 

“Holtz,” Ransom says, a warning note slipping into his voice.

 

Holster shakes his head. “No, Rans, I mean it. Nursey almost fell out of the fucking elevator when I saw him this morning, he started crying because he thought I was pissed at him, he’s _still_ fucking shaking—and this is still better than it could have been. I mean, Jesus, if he’d gone on the ice like this—”

 

“Adam,” Ransom says, sharply now. “You weren’t any better when we started, okay? He fucked up, you read him the riot act, but _give him a break_.”

 

Holster’s lips thin, and for a moment they just look at each other, having one of those silent Ransom-and-Holster conversations that exist outside of everyone else. Finally, Holster sighs, running a hand through his hair. “The bus is gonna head out in half an hour,” he says. He glances at Nursey, and his voice softens. “You need to eat something,” he says gently. “C’mon, bro.”

 

Nursey looks (finally, finally _looks_ , Dex could cry) at Dex, uncertainly, like he’s looking for approval, and Holster pauses. Dex gives Nursey what he hopes is a calm, encouraging smile. “Go,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady. “Go eat, you look shaky. I’ll see you on the bus, and we’ll talk.”

 

Holster puts a hand on Nursey’s shoulder, steady, and Nursey gives a nod and the smallest, softest smile Dex has ever seen on him before he lets Holster pick up his bags and lead him back toward the dining room.

 

The moment they’re out of sight, Dex closes his eyes, sinking down into the couch and pressing the heels of his palms into his eyelids. “ _Fuck_ ,” he says hoarsely.

 

He’d thought they were okay. He’d thought they were _good_. _Fuck_ , he’s never felt this shitty about anything in his life.

 

Ransom’s hand settles on his shoulder. “Hey,” he says quietly. Dex lowers his hands, looking warily at him, unsure if he’s going to get another lecture. But Ransom just tilts his head to one side, cocking an eyebrow. “Are you okay?”

 

Dex laughs, hollow. “Fuck no,” he says. “Are you kidding me? Did you see him? I— _fuck_.” He pushes a hand through his hair. All of the thrill of last night is gone, replaced by a twisting guilt, like there was something wrong with him for ever wanting that in the first place. Nursey’s a fucking mess now, and it’s his _fault_. “I should never have...”

 

“Dex,” Ransom interrupts. “Don’t—” He breaks off, huffs a sigh as he looks off in the direction Holster and Nursey went, and then drops his hand from Dex’s shoulder. “Look. Holster’s just...he gets protective, alright? I’m not saying you couldn’t—or shouldn’t—have done things differently with Nursey, but he shouldn’t’ve yelled at you like he did. I think he just...” His lips twitch. “I think he sees what his own fuckups used to look like, and it freaks him out. And you know Holster, he channels freaked out as pissed off.”

 

“His own...” Dex frowns, trying to make sense of that, and then remembers, ears flushing hot, coming into the Haus, Rans on the floor, Holster giving firm instructions, his voice quiet and commanding. “Holy shit,” he says. “You guys?”

 

Ransom shrugs, like it’s no big deal, but Dex can’t stop gaping at him, trying to get this new information into his worldview—reconciling his image of his straight (ish?) co-captains with the fact that they’re apparently doing the same kinky shit he and Nursey are. Were. “But...for...since _when_?”

 

“Kind of a long story.” Ransom sits back. “It didn’t start sexual. Our frog year, I got kind of—fucked, around finals. Way worse than I do now. I didn’t eat, I didn’t sleep, and my anxiety just got...” He shrugs again, looking almost embarrassed, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Anyway, long story short, I totally imploded, crashed and burned, whatever. Ended up in the hospital. Holster was already my emergency contact at that point.”

 

His lips quirk in a small, fond smile. “After that, he kind of put himself in charge of...keeping my shit together. Made sure I slept, made sure I ate, shit like that. And it just clicked for us. He was good at it. And I...super responded to it, I guess.” He stretches his legs out, crosses them at the ankles. “It didn’t get sexual till...shit, early last year. We’d hooked up before that—y’know, Samwell, shit happens—but nothing like...” He clears his throat. “The dynamic shit, y’know. It was a mindfuck and a half.”

 

Dex blinks, still trying to sort through all that. “Why?”

 

Ransom raises his eyebrows. “Because it’s uncomfortable as fuck to be a black dude and suddenly realize that you’re crazy turned on by your giant white best friend holding you down,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and Dex flushes.

 

“Oh,” he manages. Ransom snorts, reaching over and ruffling Dex’s hair. Dex’s face still feels hot, but he tries to push through it. “But I thought...you and that girl from the volleyball team?”

 

“I’m not keeping secrets from her,” Ransom says, shrugging one shoulder. “And we’ve talked, the three of us. It’s...Y’know. It’s an evolving thing.” His face softens. “Look. What I’m saying, man, is that it’s a process. There’s a learning curve. And don’t let Holtzy scare you, because trust me, he didn’t come into it knowing fucking everything, either.”

 

“Did you ever...” The words stick in Dex’s throat, and he swallows hard, gesturing at the couch where Nursey had been sitting. “Drop like that?”

 

The smile fades slightly from Ransom’s face. “Yeah,” he says. “I mean, there’s a reason Holtz could recognize it so fast, y’know? And I’m not gonna lie, man, it feels shitty. But it can also happen even if you do everything right—sometimes your brain just doesn’t wanna cooperate. Shit happens.”

 

Dex nods, rubbing a hand over his face. “How bad did I fuck up,” he asks, quietly. “By leaving him right away. Seriously.”

 

Ransom hesitates. “It...It wasn’t good,” he says. “But Dex, seriously—you didn’t know. Now you do. It’s a different ballgame, man.”

 

“Yeah, right,” Dex huffs out a dull laugh. “I’m pretty sure we’re done hooking up after this. No way he’s gonna trust me again.”

 

“You don’t know that.” Ransom gets to his feet. “Come on. The bus is gonna head out soon, and you probably want to eat a little more breakfast.” He pauses. “Just so you know, you’re sitting with me on this bus ride. We’re doing a crash course in BDSM.”

 

Dex trips over the couch as he tries to get up, catches himself before he faceplants into the ugly hotel carpet, and stands, his face burning. “Uh,” he stammers. “I kinda thought I’d—y’know, try to talk to Nursey about—”

 

“Nope.” Ransom gives him a shit-eating grin. “Sorry, bro.”

 

So he ends up on the bus next to Ransom, the highway falling away past them, Ransom’s laptop out in front of him, open to the Samwell Sexuality Information and Peer Counseling Association’s web page on Kink Practice: Safety, Security, and Consent. His ears are _burning_ , and he can’t stop looking over his shoulders to make sure no one’s peeking at the screen, even though Bits and Chowder are sitting behind him and they’re both asleep, sharing Bitty’s headphones.

 

Nursey’s sitting with Holster a few rows away, and Dex keeps glancing back at them, too, because he can’t _not_. Holster’s awake, but Nursey’s asleep, his head on Holster’s shoulder. When Dex slips past them to go to the bathroom, he pauses, taking in the sweep of Nursey’s eyelashes, the curve of his lips. Memorizing them.

 

_If I never get to have this again_ , he thinks, before he can stop himself, _at least_ —

 

He shoves the thought away, makes himself keep walking.

 

The bus drives straight on for about two and a half hours, and Dex glues his eyes to Ransom’s computer screen so that he doesn’t have to think. He reads about power exchanges, and consent fallacies, and safe words and signals—which is apparently a way bigger category of shit than he thought, but at least he was on the right _track_ —about adrenaline and endorphin spikes, so much about aftercare that he starts feeling sick all over again thinking about how much he didn’t do.

 

They stop for a snack and stretch break at a rest area on the Masspike. Dex closes Ransom’s laptop and gets up, stretching his shoulders. His brain kind of feels like it’s on an information overload, and he rubs his eyes, following the rest of the team off the bus.

 

“We’re back on in twenty,” Lardo says as they file off, standing next to the coaches in aviator sunglasses and her SMH jacket. “And so help me, if you’re not on the bus when we roll out, I will leave your asses here.”

 

Dex hesitates, and then hangs back. “Lards?”

 

She lowers her sunglasses. “Dex,” she says.

 

“I, uh.” He rubs the back of his head. “I just wanted to apologize for being kind of a dick last night. It was a shitty game.”

 

Lardo eyes him for a moment, expression unreadable, and then she props her sunglasses on top of her head and crosses her arms. “It was a shitty game,” she says, in a tone that suggests she is allowing him this by the sheer grace of her divinity. Which, Dex supposes, she kind of is. “Still not an excuse. You pull that shit on me again and I’m rooming you with Wicks for a month of roadies.”

 

He winces. Wicks snores like a jackhammer. “Fair,” he agrees.

 

Lardo smiles, punches his arm _hard_ , and shoves him toward the rest stop.

 

Rubbing his arm—Lardo never pulls her punches—Dex heads inside. There’s a McDonald’s and a Dunkin Donuts and a pizza place and a smoothie place, and he skips all of them, going for the gas station convenience store off to the side. He picks up a bag of pretzels and an orange juice, and then, after a moment’s hesitation, grabs a bag of Nursey’s favorite trail mix before doubling back to the fridge for a bottle of black cherry Powerade. He carries the whole haul up to the cash registers and swipes his debit card, not really focused on the amount—he’ll see it on his statement later, and anyway, he hasn’t spent much this month.

 

As he takes his bag and receipt from the cashier, he sees Nursey come into the store and beeline for the granola aisle. Dex grabs an extra bag from the cashier, stuffs his own pretzels and juice into it, and heads over to him. “Hey.”

 

Nursey startles, looking up from the selection of honestly really gross organic shit that Dex still can’t understand why he willingly eats. His face relaxes into something soft and gentle, and Dex’s heart twists. “Hey,” he says. He looks better, more rested, less likely to keel over. “Are you doing okay?”

 

Dex snorts. “Me? Jesus, Nursey.” He starts to reach out, then stops himself, not sure if he can. He clears his throat instead, holding out one of his bags. “I—Here.”

 

Nursey looks surprised, but takes it from him, peering into it. “Dex,” he says, blinking. “You didn’t have to—”

 

“I know.” And he’s blushing again, which is great. Just excellent. “I wanted to. I was reading this stuff and it said, like, to make sure you stay hydrated and your electrolytes stay up. So.”

 

“I...” Nursey stares at him, like he’s not sure what to say. “Thanks.”

 

Dex shakes his head. “Don’t thank me, man, I...” He slips his bag over his wrist so he can put his hands in his pockets, feeling suddenly awkward as he glances around. He really, really doesn’t want to have this conversation in the middle of a convenience store. “We need to talk,” he says, and immediately hates that he’s said it as Nursey’s face tenses. “Not like...I just mean, like, about last night. And...” He swallows. “You know.”

 

Nursey hesitates. He looks uncertain, but not as nervous as he had a moment ago. “There’s kind of a lot,” he says. His lips twitch up, just slightly. “And we’ve only got ten minutes before Lardo leaves us in the middle of the highway.”

 

“I guess.” Dex manages a faint smile. “Can I walk you back?”

 

Nursey smiles, a hint of his usual humor quirking into his eyes. “To the bus?”

 

Dex shrugs. “Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t fall over, right?”

 

Nursey makes a face at him, but it’s halfway to playful, and he falls into step next to Dex as they head back towards the bus. “You do look better,” Dex says, trying not to study him but not really able to help himself. “Less…” He makes a vague, wobbly hand gesture. “You know.”

 

“I feel better,” Nursey admits. “Eating helped. And the, uh, contact.” He bites his lip, eyelashes flickering slightly in the way Dex knows means he’s flustered. Not for the first time, Dex wishes, totally apolitically and completely selfishly, that he could just fucking tell when Nursey was blushing. “You know it wasn’t, like...He wasn’t trying to start anything?”

 

Dex ducks his head, ears warming. “No, yeah. I mean—I know. I’m glad it was helpful.” He tries, really hard, not to think about that spike of possessiveness that had gone through him this morning when he’d seen Holster’s hand on Nursey’s shoulder, why the first thing that had come to mind to say had been _you’re not his boyfriend_ , why it had rankled so hard when Holster had leveled back with _neither are you_.

 

If he thinks too hard about that, he won’t be able to stop.

 

“We do need to talk, though” he says, a little reluctantly. “You know we do, right?”

 

“Yeah.” Nursey takes off his hat and runs a hand through his hair, then shoves his snapback back over his curls. They emerge out into the crisp, cool air, and Nursey closes his eyes briefly. “It’s just gonna be a lot, you know? We kinda...” He shrugs. “We skipped a lot of shit, I guess.”

 

“That’s one way to put it,” Dex mutters. He glances at him, sidelong and uncertain. “Nursey—” He breaks off. “Derek, I...”

 

The words get stuck in his mouth, tangled and uncertain. He doesn’t know if he wants to apologize, or reach out, or just spill out a pile of _I didn’t know what this could have been, I didn’t realize how bad I could have hurt you, I didn’t know I how much I needed this._

 

_I didn’t know how much I needed you._

 

He swallows. “I’m just really sorry. For not being able to give you what you needed last night. Or this morning, I guess. Just…” He takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry, man. For getting us in over our heads.”

 

“Dex.” Nursey looks surprised, and then his eyes go soft. “Dude. It’s okay. Of course it’s okay.”

 

Dex stops walking. “It really, really isn’t.” Nursey frowns, like he’s going to protest, but Dex shakes his head. “Nursey, I know you wanna let me off the hook, but just--let me apologize, okay? You trusted me to take care of you, and I didn’t, and I just...I’m sorry.”

 

Nursey hesitates, but then he nods, his expression caught somewhere between uncertainty and fondness. “Okay. I forgive you.”

 

“Thank you.” Dex slips his hands into his pockets, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, and then throws caution to the wind and just— “Can I hug you?” Nursey blinks, and Dex flushes, ready to backtrack. “I just, you said contact helps, but I get it if you don’t want it from me right now, I just wanted—I mean, I thought I’d—”

 

“ _Will_.” Nursey slips the handles of his plastic bag over his wrist and reaches out, touching Dex’s arm. “Just...Come here?”

 

Dex sighs, relief coursing through him in a wave, and holds out his arms, even though they’re right by the parking lot, where anyone could see them. Nursey steps into them and Dex folds him close, wrapping his arms around Nursey’s waist. They’re the same height, but Nursey tucks his face into Dex’s neck, and Dex closes his eyes, turning his head to press his cheek against Nursey’s hair. Nursey takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, a little shakily, his shoulders relaxing. Dex feels him almost melt against his chest, and tightens his arms gently. “I got you,” he whispers. “I got you.”

 

“I know,” Nursey whispers back, his voice half muffled into the skin of Dex’s neck. Dex swallows the lump in his throat. “You always do, Dex.”

 

He says it quietly, simply, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. The words settle, trusting and soft, onto Dex’s shoulders like a weight. Like a weight, but not like a burden. He can carry this.

 

He wants to carry this, as long as Nursey will let him.

 

That means not getting left at a rest stop on the Pike, though, so he gently loosens his grip. “We’d better get on the bus,” he says, stepping back reluctantly.

 

His hands don’t quite leave Nursey’s waist, though, and Nursey smiles. “Yeah.” He reaches up with one hand, straightening the collar of Dex’s flannel almost absently. “We’ll talk when we get back to school, okay?”

 

“Yeah.” Dex goes over the same spot on his collar, his neck burning hot where Nursey’s fingers had brushed his skin. “C’mon. Lardo’ll leave us here.”

 

Nursey makes a face, but he worms himself closer to Dex’s side when Dex slings an arm over his shoulders and pulls him toward the bus, and it sends a curl of warmth through his lower belly.

 

When they clamber back onto the bus, Dex almost stops short on the steps when he sees that Ransom and Holster have swapped seats. Nursey glances over his shoulder at him in surprise, and Dex shrugs at him, gesturing for him to go ahead of him.

 

“Sup,” Holster says, as Dex sits down next to him. “Can we talk?”

 

Dex sticks his orange juice into the seat pocket in front of him, and opens his bag of pretzels. “Yeah,” he says. He pauses, then offers the bag to Holster.

 

Holster shakes his head. “Thanks, man, I’m good.” They sit in silence for a few minutes, until the bus starts up and heads back onto the highway, until the rest of the team is mostly occupied with their own conversations or headphones or homework.

 

“I wanna apologize,” Holster says finally. “For how I talked to you this morning. It wasn’t cool.”

 

“I…” Dex blinks. That wasn’t what he was expecting. “Okay?”

 

“Rans likes to tell me I have an unfortunate protective streak,” Holster says, shooting him a slight, self-deprecating smile. “And I don’t always think before I talk. But I, uh, was trying to come from a good place.”

 

“I know, man.” Dex runs a hand through his hair. “Is that, uh...why you guys swapped seats, or…?”

 

Holster shakes his head. “He wanted to talk to Nursey, now that he’s feeling better,” he says. “And I thought you might have some questions.”

 

Dex hesitates, looking down. “Kind of,” he says, slowly. He has a million questions. And it helps that Holster— _knows._ Knows him, knows Nursey. Isn’t just a random page on a website. “I mean, I…” He takes a breath, lets it out carefully. “There’s just a lot, you know? I thought we were just—messing around, trying stuff, but there’s all this…”

 

He’s rambling and he knows it, but it’s what he does when he’s flustered, and Jesus, today’s been enough to fluster him. He eats a pretzel, just to buy himself some time to think, and Holster just waits for him, quieter than he’s ever really been in Dex’s presence.

 

“It’s just,” he says finally, when he’s managed to sort through some of the mess in his head, “I didn’t realize how much I _wanted_ , I guess. But I’m just freaked that I want...too much.”

 

Holster nods slowly, his eyes thoughtful behind his glasses. “Been there, dude,” he says. His lips tick up slightly at the corners. “Did Rans tell you anything about what it’s like with us?”

 

Dex shakes his head. “Just how it started. With his anxiety and—” He breaks off, a sudden, vaguely disturbing thought occurring to him. “Hey. Uh. When I was at the Haus the other day, and Rans was on the floor with his flashcards, was that, like…”

 

His face feels hot, but he sees the instant that Holster realizes what he’s asking, and it’s kind of a relief when his face goes as red as Dex feels. “Dude _no_ ,” he says quickly. “You don’t bring other people in on your scenes without consent, that’s not cool, we’d never do that in the middle of the living room.” He rubs the back of his head, though, like he’s embarrassed. “I mean, we were sort of—but it wasn’t a sex thing. Like at all.”

 

“Uh. Okay.” Dex looks down. “So you guys have been doing this for...kind of awhile, I guess?”

 

Holster nods. “Kind of.”

 

“How do you, like…” Dex chews the inside of his cheek. He’s been doing it too much today, and it’s starting to hurt a little, but it’s a nervous habit that he can’t break. “I don’t know how to not worry that I’m gonna hurt him. Like, I wasn’t worried about that before, but now…”

 

“Yeah, that ignorance is bliss shit has some merit.” Holster smiles wryly. “You’ve gotta talk to each other,” he says after a moment. “I mean, I know you guys, and I know that’s not really your _thing_ , but you have to. This isn’t the kind of stuff you can mess around with if you’re not communicating.” He hesitates. “And—Dex, this should go without saying, but you can’t do this when you’re angry. Nursey told me about last night, and I know neither of you really knew what you were doing, but you need to be thinking. You have to have your head in it, or it’s just not safe.”

 

“I know.” Guilt creeps back into his stomach, and he tries to shove it down. “I mean, I know that now.”

 

“Good.” Holster nudges him gently. “And you can talk to me, you know. Or Rans. If you ever have questions about anything. We’re here for you, and shit.”

 

Dex flushes. This whole day has been mortifying as fuck, and he’s not really looking forward to a repeat, but he can’t deny that talking to someone with experience is a little easier than reading shit online. “Yeah,” he says, a little surprised at how much he means it. “Thanks.”

 

It’s after two by the time the bus pulls up to Faber, and Dex is more than ready to get the fuck out of his seat and just move his legs for a little while. He follows everyone else off the bus, getting his stuff from the storage space underneath, and then hesitates, trying to catch Nursey’s eye.

 

Nursey seems to have the same idea, slinging his bag over his shoulder and heading over to him. “Hey.”

 

There’s a slight nervous tinge to his voice, and Dex’s gut clenches. He really, really doesn’t want to be the cause of it. “Hey,” he says, as calmly as he can manage. “So, we should, uh…”

 

“Yeah.” Nursey hesitates. “Could we maybe regroup in like, a couple hours or something? My brain’s kind of on information overload, I need to just...think for a little while.”

 

Relief trickles in past the anxiety pooling in Dex’s stomach. “Yeah, man, totally.” It’s probably a good idea. God knows there’s enough spinning around in his head that he has to sort through. He glances at his watch. “Want to meet at Annie’s at like four? Four-thirty?”

 

“Four-thirty sounds good.” Nursey adjusts the strap of his hockey bag on his shoulder. “Thanks, man.”

 

It’s loose and casual, and Dex swallows. “Yeah, dude. Of course.” He nods in the direction of their dorms. “You wanna walk back with me?”

 

Nursey shakes his head. “I’m gonna talk to Rans a little longer,” he says. “But I’ll see you later.” He smiles, a quick, faint flash, and then adjusts his bag again before he heads off toward Ransom and Holster. Dex watches him go, taking a little bit of comfort in how sure his steps are, how he doesn’t look even the slightest bit shaky anymore.

 

Then guilt creeps back in, and he huffs out a sigh.

 

Right. He needs to sort his shit out.

 

His suite is quiet and empty when he gets home. Dex tosses his stuff down in the common room—his bedroom feels too far when he’s just lugged all his shit halfway across campus—and flops down on the couch, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He texts **where the fuck is everyone?** to his roommate groupchat, and then puts his phone on his stomach, closing his eyes.

 

A moment later, his phone buzzes.

 

**#suitelife**

 

**Jeff**

Me and Mike are Bostoning for the day. Home by 10ish probs.

Joe’s home for the wkend

 

Cool dudes

Make good choices

 

**Jeff**

#yolo my pal

Sorry bout your game btw. Saw the score

 

Yeah it was shitty.

Gonna drown my sorrows by drinking all your beer

 

**Mike**

Jokes on you we only have mike’s hard and coors

 

You’re all disgusting and I hate you

 

He grins despite himself, though, and puts his phone back down, tilting his head back and closing his eyes.

 

It still sort of feels like he has too much stuff mixing up in his head, and he’s not totally sure where he’s supposed to go from here. He knows—he _knows_ —that he never, ever wants to see Nursey look like he did this morning ever again. And even though he knows it’s crap, he can’t shake the fact that it was what _he_ wanted that put Nursey in that spot.

 

Absently, he rubs his hand over his eyes. This morning was shit. But last night was...He shivers a little. It had been hot and intense and everything Dex had never realized he was missing in the sex he’s been having so far—not that he’s been having _bad_ sex, but holy shit. But it wasn’t just because of what they were doing, he knows that. Part of him has always known that.

 

It’s because it’s _them_.

 

And somehow, that scares him more than anything else.

 

Annie’s is pretty crowded when he finally gets there, which makes sense—it’s a Sunday, and a pretty popular student hangout. Dex glances around, and catches sight of Nursey sitting at one of the small tables along the wall. He beelines toward him, faltering only slightly when he realizes that Nursey has two takeout cups in front of him, and walks a little slower. “Hey,” he says, a little hesitantly.

 

Nursey looks up and smiles. He’s changed since they got back to campus, wearing a soft-looking sweater, his snapback from earlier exchanged for the beanie Dex recognizes from the first time Nursey went to his knees for him in his dorm room, and his stomach flips. “Hey,” Nursey says. “I, uh, got you a coffee. Black, two sugars, right?”

 

“Yeah,” Dex says, a little surprised. He takes off his jacket and drops it over the back of the chair, and then sits down, pulling the offered cup toward him. “Thanks, man.”

 

“I mean, you got me earlier.” Nursey says, nudging Dex’s foot with his under the table. “So, we should…”

 

“Yeah.” Dex licks his lips, curling his hands around the warm cup. “I don’t...I don’t really know where to start,” he admits.

 

“Me neither.” Nursey looks down at his own cup. Sunday after a rough night, so it’ll be a caramel latte, almond milk and an extra shot of espresso, and Jesus, since when does Dex know _that_? “It’s…” He hesitates, glancing up at Dex through his eyelashes—not coy, Dex thinks, but maybe shy? “It’s been good, right? You and me?”

 

Dex’s stomach flip-flops again. “I—” He swallows. “Of course it’s been good, Nursey. Jesus. It’s been…” He takes a sip of his coffee. It’s hot and dark and sweet, just like he likes it. “It’s been awesome.”

 

He turns his cup in his hands, just to have something to do with them, and then, hesitantly, asks, “Did I—Did I do something to make you think it wasn’t?”

 

“No.” Nursey laughs softly. “No, Dex, you’ve been—” His eyes spark, just a hint. “You’ve been amazing, man. It’s all been amazing.”

 

Dex smiles back, uncertain and hopeful. “Even after last night?”

 

“Last night was…” Nursey sips his coffee. “We were both in over our heads,” he says after a moment of thoughtful silence. “I shouldn’t have offered you so much when you were so angry. And I didn’t—I didn’t know enough about my own limits to know that I was…” He bites his lower lip, his expression unreadable. “I didn’t know how overwhelmed I was.”

 

“Yeah,” Dex says, trying to stop the guilt churning in his lower belly. “Derek, I—”

 

Nursey holds up a hand. “Dex, don’t. Okay? Don’t apologize anymore.”

 

Dex frowns. “I _should_ , though,” he says, leaning forward, his hands around his cup. “Nursey, I could have hurt you. I was reading—well, all this stuff, but I should have known—”

 

“But you _didn’t_ know,” Nursey interrupts. He mirrors Dex’s posture, but without the tension Dex knows he has in his own shoulders. “Dex, neither of us knew what we were doing going into this, okay? And anyway, I was reading today, too. It was my responsibility to know my own limits, or at least to stay conscious of them, and I wasn’t. Not like I should have.”

 

“Nursey,” Dex starts, but Nursey’s eyes are steady and his gaze firm, and he bites the inside of his cheek. “Okay,” he says carefully. “Alright. No more apologies. Not for last night, at least.”

 

Nursey raises his eyebrows. “What else do you think you should be apologizing for?”

 

“This morning?” Dex suggests. Nursey frowns, but Dex pushes forward. “No, dude. Whatever last night was, I _knew_ something was up with you this morning, and I left you anyway. That wasn’t okay, and I’m sorry.”

 

“I…” Nursey looks uncertain, but he nods, slowly. “Okay. Apology accepted.” He takes a sip of his coffee, running his thumb idly along the cardboard sleeve, and then puts it down. “We’re just gonna have to be better about talking to each other, you know?”

 

Dex blinks. “You still want…” He flushes slightly. “I mean.”

 

Nursey’s eyelashes flicker, and he presses his lips together. “I...If you do. If you’re not—” He tightens his grip on his paper cup, and then relaxes it. “I mean, if you’d trust me again.”

 

“What?” Dex sits up straighter, taken aback. “Dude. Why wouldn’t I trust you?”

 

Nursey shrugs. “Like I said. The communication has to go both ways.” He pauses. “I’m getting antsy, sitting here. You wanna go for a walk?”

 

It’s an abrupt subject change, but Dex is almost grateful for it. “Yeah, sure.”

 

They get to their feet and pull on their coats, collecting their coats and heading for the door. Dex holds it open and Nursey shoots him a small, almost amused smile, slipping past him. The air outside is crisp and cool, red and gold leaves drifting along the sidewalks and crunching under their shoes.

 

Without speaking, they head in the direction of the sophomore dorms. They don’t talk right away, they just walk, side-by-side, their even heights letting them match their steps easily. It’s a comfortable quiet, companionable. Dex sips his coffee, tilts his head up to watch the sunlight playing in the leaves of the trees that shadow the campus paths.

 

“So, uh,” he clears his throat, just to break the silence. “What did you and Rans talk about?”

 

“A bunch of stuff.” Nursey takes a sip of his coffee, looking thoughtful. “A lot about safety. And figuring out limits, shit like that. But mostly we talked about the whole—ike, race and kink thing.”

 

Dex blinks. “What?”

 

“Y’know—” Nursey glances at him, his expression caught somewhere between interest in what he’s talking about and the look he gets with Dex sometimes, the _here I am, educating this dude again_ one that used to piss Dex off but that he almost finds himself appreciating, these days. “Like, internalized racism, and how or if that plays into the shit I like, and whether I thought it was coming up for you at all—full disclosure, he basically told me I was totally entitled to bite your dick off if I thought it was, so that’s cool—”

 

“Wait,” Dex interrupts, partially out of self-preservation and partly because he’s confused. “Go back, what?”

 

“Like,” Nursey blows out a breath, reaching up to fix his beanie. “Like, there’s a difference between me liking shit in bed because I like it, and liking it because I feel like I _should_ be submissive. Especially to you. Or—well. Guys that look like you. You know?”

 

Dex processes. “Ye-es,” he says slowly, wheels still turning. This is one of those _shit I never bothered thinking about_ Samwell situations, where he knows he shouldn’t feel _dumb_ , but he does feel ignorant. “So there’s gonna be shit you don’t want to do because of…”

 

“Maybe?” Nursey sips his coffee. “I haven’t really thought about specifics.”

 

“Like…” Dex hesitates, not sure if he’s allowed to say this, but goes for it anyway. He always thinks better in concretes than in abstracts; it’s one of the reasons he hates the stupid English class he’s taking so much. “Like, I saw Rans and Holster once at the Haus, and Holster kind of had his feet on Rans’s back, and—” Nursey’s eyes go sharp, and Dex stops. “No?” he guesses.

 

“No,” Nursey says firmly. “Absolutely not.” He softens slightly. “I mean, Rans and Holster can like whatever they want to like, that’s their right, but I’m not—I wouldn’t be comfortable with that.”

 

Dex nods quickly. “Okay. I—yeah, man. Of course.” He pauses. “Would it…Like, would it be easier for you to want stuff with me? If I weren’t white?”

 

Nursey shrugs. “Different,” he says. “Not necessarily easier. But I think—we’ll have to talk about it. Rans said he renegotiates shit with Holster all the time. But sometimes it’s just okay to like what I like and I don’t have to psychoanalyze the shit out of myself.” His lips twitch. “Which I’m not always great at avoiding.”

 

“We can talk about it,” Dex says. He frowns, a little, because that’s not really how he wanted to say that. “I mean, I want to. If it makes you feel more comfortable with...with anything.” He cringes at how awkward he sounds, but Nursey actually smiles at him, and it loosens something in Dex’s chest. “Is there stuff I can read? To learn more? I mean, I don’t…”

 

Nursey smiles. “I’ll ask,” he says. He bumps Dex’s shoulder gently. “Look at us. Having mature Kink Discourse like a couple adults.”

 

Dex snorts. “I literally just heard those capital letters, you’re such a dork.” Nursey laughs, though, and Dex can’t help smiling.

 

Warm, gentle fingertips brush the side of his hand, and he glances to his left. Nursey looks back at him, his smile hesitant. Dex takes a deep breath, reaches out, and laces his fingers through Nursey’s. Nursey’s steps falter, just a fraction, and then he squeezes his hand around Dex’s.

 

Something sweet and fluttery blossoms in his chest. They’ve never done this before, he realizes. He’s jerked Nursey off, has had his fingers inside him, has _fucked_ him, but he’s never held his hand. And something about it is just—

 

He laughs. Nursey glances at him, eyes dancing. “What?”

 

“Just…” Dex holds up their joined hands. “We’re just...we’re doing this backwards.”

 

Nursey’s lips twitch. “Yeah.” He sips his coffee, and then glances at Dex again, sidelong. “Dex, do we…” He hesitates. “Are we…Is there more to this than what we’ve been doing?”

 

And there it is—the question that’s been hovering on the edge of Dex’s mind for weeks, since this thing between them started. Because he’s had hookups before, since starting Samwell, a few girls here and there and that one disastrous tryst with Tyler from the soccer team, but nothing that’s ever come close to the electric energy that crackles between him and Nursey whenever they touch. It’s more than attraction, more than sexual tension, it’s…

 

“I don’t know,” he says, carefully.

 

Because he’s had a relationship before, too, two years and change with Mels back in high school, and this wasn’t anything like, that, either. He and Mels had been friends first, too, but they’d fallen into things sweetly, slowly. He’d loved her, in the hesitant, soft way of first loves. And this is different from that, too. He’d never ached for her like did for Nursey, never _wanted_ as fiercely like he does now.

 

He doesn’t _know_ what this is. But he…

 

God, he wants to.

 

He finishes his coffee and tosses the empty cup into the next trash can they pass. “What do you think?”

 

“I…” Nursey looks up at the trees, the sunlight reflecting off his eyes and painting his skin a warm gold, and Dex actually catches his breath a little, just looking at him. “I think there’s something here,” he says hesitantly. “I think there’s always been something here.”

 

Dex’s mouth goes dry and he swallows, caught between relief and...he’s not even sure what else. “I’m hearing a ‘but’,” he says.

 

Nursey laughs softly. “Something like that,” he says. “I mean, it’s—You know I’m a fucking disaster, right?”

 

“Bro,” Dex protests, and then mentally smacks himself. _Bro_ , he says, to the guy who’s hand he’s holding as they walk through campus. What the _fuck_ , brain? “No, you’re not.”

 

Nursey snorts. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I definitely am.”

 

“But you’re…” Dex pauses, trying to find the right words. “I mean, you’re _okay_ , right? Like, there’s nothing…” A sudden curl of uncertainty and worry goes through him. “You’d tell me if there was something—something really wrong?”

 

“Yeah, man, it’s just.” Nursey drains the last of his coffee but holds onto the cup; they’re not near a trash can right now. “I’ve just got issues, y’know? And if we get involved, like, for real, then you have to deal with them, and I don’t know if you...really want to.”

 

Dex stops walking, tugging on Nursey’s hand until he stops, too, looking at him uncertainly. “Nursey,” he says, seriously. “I don’t do shit halfway.”

 

They’ve reached their building without Dex really realizing it, walking on autopilot. He wonders, a little wildly, if he could keep his grip on Nursey’s hand, tug him upstairs to his suite, and maybe just…

 

But Nursey’s hesitating, his grip loosening around Dex’s fingers. “You say that,” he says, slowly. “But Dex, we’ve—” He gives a soft, almost hollow laugh. “We’ve been hooking up for weeks, and you’ve never even kissed me.”

 

“I—” Dex stares at him. Nursey’s not really looking at him, his glance drifting back and forth between the cup in his hand and the door to their building, and his expression looks almost regretful, embarrassed, like maybe he wishes he hadn’t said that at all, and Dex just...can’t. “Derek,” he says softly. “I didn’t—” He swallows hard.

 

Because it’s not that he hadn’t wanted to. But he hadn’t let himself, because the smallest, most insecure part of him had just been... _scared_. Because maybe it would be crossing a line, because maybe it would push them from _casual_ to _something else_ , because Nursey had never tried to kiss him, either, and he just...

 

He takes a breath. “I didn’t know if you wanted me to.”

 

Nursey’s eyes widen. “I…” His lips part, and then he takes a step closer to Dex, close enough that Dex can see the flecks of gold in his green eyes. “Will,” he says, his voice soft. “I always want you to kiss me.”

 

Dex’s next breath catches in his lungs. He opens his mouth, but he doesn’t even know what he’d say, and anyway—

 

He’s never been good at words. 

 

Nursey meets him halfway, and it’s soft, more chaste than Dex ever would have thought their first kiss could be. Dex brings one hand up, cupping Nursey’s cheek and tilting his head to get a better angle, and Nursey leans into him. His heart starts beating like crazy, but he doesn’t deepen the kiss, even though he _wants to_ , fuck, he wants to more than anything, but this feels—fragile. Careful.

 

He doesn’t want to fuck this up.

 

But then Nursey makes a quiet sound in the back of his throat and fists his hand in Dex’s shirt, and Dex just _can’t_. He drops one hand to Nursey’s hip and threads the other into his hair, under his hat, and just pulls him in, hot and close and tight. Nursey’s lips part under his and he tastes like caramel syrup and coffee, and Dex pulls back just enough to bite his lower lip and hear Nursey’s sharp intake of breath before he hauls him close again.

 

“Um.”

 

The slight clearing of someone’s throat behind them has them jumping apart, even if Dex can’t quite make himself let go of Nursey completely, and Nursey’s fingers are still tangled in his flannel. The girl staring at them looks like she can’t decide if she’s flustered or amused. “Sorry,” she says. “Just, um. You’re blocking the door?”

 

Dex’s face burns. “Shit, sorry,” he stammers, stepping aside and dragging Nursey with him without thinking. Nursey’s shaking with silent laughter, and Dex scowls at him. “ _Dude_ ,” he says, reaching up and shoving Nursey’s beanie down over his eyes. “Stop it.”

 

“Sorry,” Nursey snickers. He pushes his hat back up, though, and his eyes are sparkling, bright and happy. “Sorry. Come here?”

 

Dex rolls his eyes but goes, willing and grinning despite himself, brushing his lips over Nursey’s once. “We should go inside,” he mumbles.

 

“Yeah?” Nursey pulls away, raising his eyebrows. “To talk?”

 

“Or something,” Dex says, and he knows he’s bright red but he doesn’t even care—it’s worth it, just to see Nursey grin again. He pulls his Samwell ID out of his pocket and swipes them into the building, tangles his hand with Nursey’s again.

 

They make it up the stairs and into Dex’s suite without incident, but the second the door closes behind them, he tosses his keys and wallet away and drags Nursey close again. The guys’ll be out for the rest of the day and he’s not worried about someone walking in on them. All he wants is Nursey under him, and he gets him, barely hearing the dull sound of Nursey’s empty coffee cup hitting the floor as he fists both hands into Dex’s shirt.

 

This kiss isn’t gentle. It’s hot and fierce and borders on biting, Nursey’s lips parting easily under his. Dex curls his hands over Nursey’s hips and pulls him close, their chests pressed together, Nursey’s stubble scraping against Dex’s chin. Nursey kisses like he does everything else they’ve done in bed, practiced and easy and devastating, and Dex groans against his mouth.

 

And then, because he has to, he _has_ to, he makes himself pull back. “Just for the record,” he says, panting slightly, and Jesus, when did he lose his breath? “This is—’m all in.”

 

Nursey blinks at him, his eyes slightly hazy. “What?”

 

“This. Us.” Dex cups his cheek. “Me and you.”

 

Nursey’s lips part, and Dex can’t help looking at the way the bottom one is a little redder than usual, swollen from Dex’s teeth. And then he smiles. “Yeah?”

 

“Yeah.” Dex grins at him. “Does that work for you?”

 

“Fuck, yes,” Nursey says, and he hauls Dex in by his shirt.

 

They kiss hard and fast and messy and Dex thinks he could do this forever, getting to know the contours of Nursey’s mouth, the sounds he makes when Dex bites down on his lip or slides his hands under Nursey’s sweater to touch his skin. Nursey’s fingers, nimble and strong, slip into his hair and tug slightly, and Dex catches his breath—hair-pulling’s never been a thing for him, but shit, that might change.

 

“We should,” Nursey says the next time they part for air, and then cuts off the rest of his sentence on a whine when Dex drops his mouth automatically to the skin of his neck, finding his pulse with his tongue and sucking hard. “ _Dex_. We should—bed.”

 

“Bed’s too far,” Dex mumbles. He scrapes his teeth against Nursey’s pulse point--Nursey digs his fingers into Dex’s shoulders—and then makes himself lift his head. “Couch,” he decides, and pulls Nursey with him the few stumbling steps to the couch. Nursey turns them before Dex can sink down, flopping down and then dragging Dex down on top of him, and their bodies press together all the way down, and _shit_ , okay, Dex can work with this. “Fuck, Derek.”

 

“Mmhm,” Nursey says, pushing Dex’s shirt up and getting his hands underneath it. He runs his fingers over Dex’s abs, light and almost teasing, and then grabs his hips and pulls him down against him, closer and closer and closer. Dex can feel his dick through his jeans and he grinds down, hard enough that Nursey hisses through his teeth and tightens his grip on Dex’s waist. “So for—just to clarify,” he says, breathily, as Dex sits back just enough to pull on the hem of Nursey’s sweater until Nursey sits up to let him tug it over his head. “Are we doing this, like—like a boyfriends, thing?”

 

Dex pauses, glancing up from where he’s been mouthing at Nursey’s collarbone. Nursey has that hesitant, uncertain look on his face again, and Dex leans up, kissing him again, more gently this time. “Yeah,” he says, murmuring it against his lips. “If that’s cool with you.”

 

Nursey smiles against his mouth. “Yeah. It’s cool with me.” He threads his fingers back into Dex’s hair and pulls him in for another kiss, shifting under him to wedge his knee between Dex’s thighs, and Dex rocks down before he can stop himself.

 

He can feel his heartbeat pounding in his ears, and when Nursey pulls at his shirt and then slips his hands underneath it to drag his fingers down the muscles of his back, Dex has to muffle his groan into Nursey’s mouth. Shifting, he gets both his knees underneath him and holds himself up on one arm so he can get his flannel off, then breaks their kiss just long enough to jerk his shirt over his head before he crashes back down. Nursey’s touch is electric on his bare skin and Dex shudders, worming a hand between them to fumble for Nursey’s belt buckle.

 

“But like,” Nursey says, the next time they break for air, while Dex is pushing his belt out of the way and flicking open the button on his jeans. “I don’t think—like, the way we’ve been doing things, I don’t think I want it like that all the time?”

 

“Okay,” Dex says, because he’d honestly thought that would be a given; if every time with them ends up like what they’ve been doing so far, he’ll probably be dead before he turns twenty from the sheer fucking intensity of the sex he’s having.

 

Which isn’t the worst way to go, but it’s a fucking waste of his athletic scholarship if he doesn’t at least get a degree.

 

“But that’s cool?” Nursey punctuates the question with a kiss and a roll of his hips, and Dex bites down on the pulse in his neck to stop himself from making a truly embarrassing noise. “Like, you don’t care if it’s, like—” He groans when Dex licks over the marks his teeth have just made, his fingers clenching on Dex’s hips, but he doesn’t stop talking, even if his voice gets breathier. “Like, more— _fuck_ , Will—more equal?”

 

Something in his voice makes Dex pause, and he picks his head up, propping himself on his elbows. Nursey’s skin is hot against his, and his pupils are wide, and he looks fucking _beautiful_ , but Dex gets his brain back on track. “Hey,” he says, serious. “Of course I’m cool with it, man. It’s not like I can’t get hard if I’m not holding you down.”

 

Nursey’s lips curve and he tilts his hips up, shoulders shifting where he’s half-pinned under Dex’s weight. “Could’ve fooled me,” he teases, and Dex snorts, bending down and biting at his lip again.

 

“Shush,” he says pointedly, curving his hand over the line of Nursey’s dick, and Nursey makes a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a moan. He presses a kiss to the side of Nursey’s neck. “Dude, we can talk or we can make out, and I’m really happy to do either, but I can’t do both at the same time.”

 

“Mm,” Nursey says, closing his eyes and tilting his head back. It’s an open invitation, and Dex doesn’t bother trying to ignore it, trailing his mouth over the underside of his jaw, stubble scraping slightly against his lips. Nursey hums softly, then opens his eyes. “We’ll talk later,” he says, and pulls Dex back into a hard kiss.

 

There’s more intent in it now, his hips rocking into Dex’s hand, and Dex swears into his mouth, getting his hands between them so that he can shove Nurse’s jeans and boxers down enough to get a better grip on his dick. Nursey groans, shuddering, and Dex balances himself on one forearm, running his thumb over the slickness beading up at the head. “Fuck, babe,” he mutters when Nursey muffles a thready gasp against Dex’s jaw. Nursey’s fingers tighten in his hair at the words, and Dex grins. “Pet names’re okay?”

 

“I like them,” Nursey says, pulling one hand out of Dex’s hair and curling it over his cheek. Dex turns his head to kiss Nursey’s thumb, grinning so hard his mouth hurts a little, and Nursey returns the smile, eyes bright. “They’re sweet.”

 

Dex laughs, ducking his head back into Nursey’s neck. There’s already a mark there from his mouth, and he sets about making it darker. “’m not sweet,” he mumbles. He can taste the faint salt of sweat on Nursey’s skin, and it’s intoxicating. “You know I’m an asshole.”

 

“Nah, you’re not.” Nursey pulls him into another kiss, warm and sweet, and Dex melts into it. Nursey’s thigh is hard and firm between his legs and he _needs_ to stop riding it before he goes off in his jeans like it’s his first time again, but the pressure and friction are too good, coupled with the slick press of Nursey’s tongue in his mouth. He grinds down, twisting his hand around Nursey’s dick as he does, and Nursey breaks the kiss to press his face into the crook of Dex’s neck with a moan.

 

“Yeah, fuck,” Dex breathes. Nursey’s shaking under him, his hips rocking up into Dex’s grip, and he recognizes the sharp intake of breath that Nursey buries against his skin. “You close? Gonna come for me?”

 

“Fuck, Dex,” Nursey gasps. He drops his hands to Dex’s hips, fingers digging in, and Dex bites down on his moan. “Will, please.”

 

He’s trembling and gorgeous and Dex can't stop looking at him, can't stop touching him, _God_ , he never wants to stop touching him. Dex kisses him again, half lost in sensation, in the slick slide of his hand over Nursey’s dick, the almost frantic grind of his own hips against the hard muscle of Nursey’s thigh, and _fuck_ , he needs to stop, he needs to _stop_ , he’s too fucking close—

 

Nursey bites down on his lip, stiffening underneath him. “Will—babe, fuck, I'm gonna—”

 

_Fuck._ “Yeah,” Dex gasps. “Yeah, sweetheart, come on, I got you.” Nursey chokes out a moan, Will’s name spilling from his lips as he shudders and pulses over Dex’s hand, and it’s too much, he _can’t._ Dex comes _hard,_ dropping his mouth down and kissing Nursey sloppily, trying to muffle his shaking groan into Nursey’s mouth. It’s a wet, messy kiss, both of them panting too hard to do much more than just gasp against each other’s lips.

 

It takes him a long time to lift his head, and he’s still a little breathless when he does. He shifts his weight onto one arm, bringing the hand not covered in come up to brush his thumb over Nursey’s cheek. “Hey,” he breathes.

 

“Hey.” Nursey grins at him, loose and sated. He leans up to kiss Dex again, with just enough teeth that Dex knows it’s intentional, shifting underneath him. His thigh presses harder against Dex’s groin and Dex hisses at the sensitivity. Nursey kisses his jaw. “Fuck, babe, I didn’t—”

 

He reaches a hand between them, going for Dex’s belt. “Here, let me—”

 

Dex catches his wrist. “I’m good,” he says quickly. Nursey looks confused, and Dex flushes. “I mean, I, uh...I already—”

 

Understanding dawns on Nursey’s face. “Oh. _Oh_.” His lips part. “When did you…”

 

Face burning, Dex ducks down to nose along Nursey’s collarbone, partly to hide his blush and partly because he can’t get over the way it makes Nursey squirm. “When you did,” he mumbles.

 

“ _Fuck_.” Nursey shivers. “God, Dex, that’s so—”

 

“Embarrassing?”

 

Nursey laughs softly, threading his hands through Dex’s hair and dragging his face out of his collarbone to kiss him again. Dex leans into it. “I was gonna say hot,” he says, words dragging over Dex’s lips. “I’m sorry I missed it.”

 

“Yeah, well, turns out my boyfriend’s hot as fuck when he comes.” Dex nips at Nursey’s lower lip, squeezing his wrist where it’s still in his hand, and gets another shiver in response. He grins, lifting Nursey’s wrist to kiss his pulse. “I didn’t stand a fucking chance,” he says, half-muffled into Nursey’s skin, and Nursey hums, kissing his cheek again. Dex turns his head to kiss him properly, Nursey’s long fingers slipping into his hair and scritching gently at the nape of his neck.

 

The come on his hand is starting to stick his fingers together, though, so he shifts his weight onto his clean hand so that he can grope around on the floor for his discarded t-shirt. He wipes off his hand and Nursey’s stomach, and Nursey makes a pleased noise that’s mostly lost between their mouths. Dex grins against his lips, dropping his shirt back on the floor—it’s gonna have to go right to the laundry anyway—and then breaks the kiss so that he can look around for his backpack. He spots it just within arm’s reach where he’d dropped it when he came back from the roadie, and reaches out to tug it over, pulling his water bottle out of the side pocket.

 

“Here,” he says, dragging his mouth off Nursey’s and popping the cap on the bottle, handing it to him. Nursey takes it and Dex squirms around on the couch until he’s half curled around him, nudging Nursey’s shoulder until he lifts his head so that Dex can slide his arm under his neck, half-spooning him on the narrow couch.

 

His boxers are going to be permanently glued to his dick and it’s kind of cold and sticky and gross, but for now, he’s pretty good where he is. Idly, he trails his fingers over Nursey’s bare stomach, running his thumb along the dips of his abs.

 

Nursey turns his head to look at him, their noses almost brushing. His hair is damp along the edge of his forehead and at his temples, and he looks tousled and gorgeous. “Hi,” he says.

 

Dex grins at him. “Hi,” he says. He drops a kiss to Nursey’s chest, right under his collarbone. “How are you doing?”

 

“I’m good. I’m great.” Nursey starts to put the water bottle back on the floor, and Dex lifts his head.

 

“You should drink more.”

 

Nursey pauses, and then looks at him, narrowing his eyes slightly. “Dex,” he says. “What are you doing?”

 

“Um.” Dex curls his arm around Nursey’s waist again. “Aftercare?”

 

“Why?” Nursey frowns at him. “We didn’t do anything.”

 

“I know, I’m just…” Dex’s ears heat up.

 

Nursey huffs out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “Dude,” he says. “You don’t have to cuddle me for half an hour every time you give me a handjob.”

 

“I know that,” Dex mutters. He picks his head up. “I’m just—y’know, it’s…” He chews the inside of his cheek. “Belated aftercare? For all the times I fucked up and didn’t do it?”

 

“Dex.” Nursey rolls his eyes, but the smile playing around his mouth is fond. “Is this because you still feel guilty?”

 

“No.” Nursey cocks a skeptical brow, and Dex huffs. “Maybe.”

 

“You’re such a sap,” Nursey says, but he grins. He drinks some more water, then puts the bottle down, twisting on the couch until they’re almost nose to nose. “Just this once,” he says, like it’s a great benevolent gesture. “Because I like you.”

 

Dex snorts. “Gee, thanks,” he drawls, dropping a wet kiss to Nursey’s shoulder. “I don’t know why I like you.”

 

“Because you think I’m hot as fuck.”

 

“That’s waning.”

 

“Oh, is it?” Nursey shifts again, leaning forward to drag his mouth over Dex’s neck. “Sorry, I couldn’t hear you over the sound of you coming in your pants because of how hot I am.”

 

Dex groans. There it was. “I fucking knew you were gonna chirp me for that,” he grumbles.

 

Nursey laughs, pulling back. “Only a little,” he teases, but his eyes are bright and happy, and Dex can’t help rolling his eyes and leaning forward to kiss him. It’s wet and sweet and a little messy, and Dex’s pulse beats a little faster in his ears.

 

“You know we’re still gonna chirp the shit out of each other, right?” Nursey says when they part, both a little breathless. “And probably still argue all the time? Like, that’s not gonna change.”

 

“Good,” Dex says, surprised at how much he means it. But he can’t imagine himself and Nursey without all the shit that makes them them, no matter how stupidly into Nursey’s stupid face he is. Which—he can admit—is a lot. “I don’t want it to.”

 

Nursey hums, pleased and content, and then reaches back with one hand, squirming around until he can pull his phone out of his pocket.

 

“What are you doing?” Dex mumbles. Post-orgasm lethargy is starting to set in, and he’s warm and comfortable, but he also doesn’t trust Nursey not to snap a picture of them, put some sort of outrageous filter on it, and Snapchat it to Chowder.

 

“Ordering us dinner,” Nursey says, opening Seamless. “We can take a shower, and talk some more, and then when food gets here we can eat a shit-ton of Chinese food and watch some Rifftrax and make out, and maybe I can actually get your pants off next time.”

 

Dex huffs. “Chirp, chirp, chirp,” he mumbles, but he’s grinning despite himself. Nursey leans over to bite his jaw fondly, and then snuggles closer to Dex’s chest while he scrolls through a menu. The couch is way too small for them to stay crammed here, and they both really need to shower, but honestly?

 

He doesn’t want to be anywhere else.

 

They can figure out the rest from here.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: miscommunication about whether a situation was consensual, brief mention of internalized racism (in the context of a conversation about race and kink practice)
> 
> \- - - 
> 
> OKAY I NOW REALIZE THAT IT WAS A DICK MOVE TO LEAVE Y'ALL WITH A CLIFFHANGER AND THEN DISAPPEAR FOR A MONTH AND I AM SO SORRY. In my defense, the US election fucked me up big time, and then I got super sick. But also: I'M SORRY.
> 
> Hopefully the kissing makes up for it? 
> 
> All of the comments and kudos you have all left have been absolutely amazing, and I literally could not love you more. <3 <3 <3
> 
> Hit me up on tumblr (@geniusorinsanity) for a smorgasbord of fandoms, some yelling about feminism and politics, and pictures of my dog, who is adorable. (Also updates on the next chapter of this beast of a fic, which I PROMISE will not take as long as this one.)
> 
> (...probably.)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Practice doesn't make perfect, because there's no such thing as _perfect_...but they've learned how to get damn close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of the road, kids! Here's your sweet, fluffy, totally smut-free finale.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> ...I'm just kidding, can you imagine? Here's like 14k worth of shmoopy porn. (As always, see the end of chapter notes for content warnings.)

 

What surprises Derek the most is how little things change.

 

There’s a lot more kissing, which he’s not going to complain about even a little, but there’s no fundamental shift in their relationship, no massive, seismic change in the way they talk to each other, the way they interact. Dex is still _Dex_ , hot-tempered and stubborn and chirpy as fuck, and Derek still pushes his buttons and gets in his space and drawls out _chill_ just to be annoying. 

 

But it’s _good_.

 

It’s so good. 

 

Because the bickering is still there, but now Dex will thread his fingers through the short hair at the nape of Derek’s neck when they argue, will run the pad of his thumb along Derek’s pulse when they’re studying on Dex’s bed. Because they still go hard on the ice, but now, when they come off the rink hot and adrenaline-high and itching for one more check, Dex has a _look_ that goes right to Derek’s veins, and he knows he’s going to be pressed up against a wall as soon as there’s a door between them and the rest of the world. Because Dex still gives him shit about his poetry, but now Derek knows the place under Dex’s ear to kiss that will turn his legs to jelly and melt his arguments into moans.

 

And the sex is just--

 

Well.

 

“ _Derek_ ,” Laura says.

 

He glances up from his laptop. “Mm?”

 

She raises her eyebrows at him from where she’s leaning on the back of the couch, her messenger bag slung over her shoulder. “I’ve been calling your name for like five minutes.”

 

“Sorry.” He shoves his pen behind his ear. “What’s up, doll?”

 

Laura rolls her eyes. “Just wanted to ask one more time if you wanted to come out to Cambridge with us,” she says. “The Cantab’s not the same without you.”

 

Derek shakes his head. “Wish I could, but I’ve gotta get this stupid thing done.” He motions toward the half-finished poem open on his screen. “I have a draft due tomorrow.”

 

“You can’t tell your prof that spoken word is a valid method of research?” 

 

He snorts. “I wish. She doesn’t believe in spoken word. Because the world is terrible and I’m not allowed to have nice things.” He pauses. “When are you guys gonna be home?”

 

“Late,” she says, shrugging one shoulder, and then grinning, all teeth. “Are you asking if you can have _company_ , Derek?”

 

She says it with a spark in her eyes that says she knows _exactly_ what he’s asking, but he’s too used to her to give her the satisfaction of sputtering. Fortunately Dex isn’t here--he’s got no poker face around any of Derek’s roommates, even though they’ve been out to them since Cam walked in on them making out on the couch. 

 

(They’re out to Dex’s suitemates, too, for almost the same reason--Derek stumbling half-dressed out of Dex’s room to grab a condom from the bowl Mike insists on leaving out in their common room. Mike had given him a grin that said he was _absolutely_ going to give Dex shit later, but hadn’t said anything, just fist-bumped him and said “get it, dude.” Derek had almost been too stunned to remember why he’d come out of Dex’s room in the first place.

 

Of course, the next time he’d stopped by, all three of Dex’s roommates--even the ever-elusive Joe--had greeted him with shit-eating grins and knowing looks, and Dex, the blush on his face running all the way down his neck and disappearing under his collar, had grabbed him by the arm and dragged him down the hall to his room. Derek had almost been laughing too hard to kiss him.)

 

“I don’t think I need your _permission_ ,” he says, pushing a hand through his hair and making a face at her. “I just wanna make sure we don’t traumatize Cam again.”

 

“Poor thing,” Laura agrees, the hint of a sharp smile tugging at her lips. “I don’t think we’ll be back before one.”

 

He raises his eyebrows. “On a _school night_? Laura Elizabeth, you deviant.”

 

“Hashtag yolo,” she drawls. She leans over the couch to ruffle his hair. “Use protection,” she says, straightening up and heading for the door. 

 

“Yes, ammi,” he calls after her, and she blows him a kiss as she leaves. 

 

Half-idly, he pokes at the poem for a few more minutes, enjoying the quiet suite. It’s not his best work, but this particular workshop is driving him up a fucking wall--the prof hates free-verse, and he spends half his time justifying his tendency to switch rhythm and meter schemes halfway through a piece while she complains to him about his lack of structure.

 

So far, he’s restrained himself from throwing a book of Whitman at her, but it’s getting more difficult. He’s pretty sure Dex is having a bad influence on him. 

 

He tacks on a few more lines that he knows he’s going to have to edit later, then saves his document and picks up his phone. 

 

Hey

What are you doing tonight?

 

**Will-asaurus Dex**

homework for the next eternity

and then i think Rans & Holster were putting together a mario kart thing at the haus

We could check that out?

 

We could do that

I know how much you love watching me suck at MK

...alternatively

I have an empty suite til like 1am?

 

Derek grins, watching the typing icon flash. 

 

**Will-asuarus Dex**

I can be there in an hour

Gotta grab a shower

 

send me a dick pic 

 

You’re grossssss

I’ll see you later

 

He laughs, tossing his phone onto the couch. 

 

A shower isn't a bad idea--he’d run to the gym after his afternoon class just to clear his head for a little while, and he hadn’t bothered to change afterwards. He collects his laptop, charger, and phone and brings them back to his room, then strips down and grabs a towel. 

 

He’s a little more thorough in the shower than he usually is, taking his time with his body wash and letting his muscles relax under the hot water. He slides a hand down and down and down, letting his fingers drift through the soap on his perineum and then further back, biting his lip automatically even though there’s no one in the suite who could hear him if he moaned. It’s a little presumptuous, maybe--they don’t have sex every time they hang out, and they certainly don’t fuck every time they hang out, but he’s got some hopes for tonight, and he’s nothing if not a planner, for all that Dex usually takes the reins once they start.

 

(Usually, but not always. Derek had meant it when he’d told Dex that he didn’t want things to be like that all the time. Part of him had been nervous when Dex had agreed so easily, had worried that he might have just said it in the moment, but Dex always, always asked before he started anything with a power differential between them. 

 

And if Derek didn’t want it, Dex was just as happy to let Derek take point. He had the advantage of experience and he used it, because sometimes he couldn’t help wanting Will to be the one who fell apart into a squirming, shuddering mess. 

 

The first time Derek fucked him, Will had spent a good five minutes catching his breath before gasping out, “Holy fucking _shit_ , that’s what I’ve been missing?” 

 

That was a good day.)

 

Still, it’s tempting, very tempting, to open himself up, smooth the way for Dex later. He could jerk off now, if he wanted, and still get it up for Dex when he gets here, but…

 

Derek takes his hand off his dick with a shiver, rinsing his hands and grabbing his conditioner instead. He’ll like it better if he’s sensitive, if he’s on the edge, if he’s fighting not to come. 

 

He doesn’t know when that got conditioned into him, but he can’t say he minds.

 

The whole bathroom is steamed up by the time he gets out of the shower, but he feels warm and comfortable, wrapping his towel around his waist and taking half a minute to run some product through his hair--he doesn’t bother attempting to style it; Dex has a habit of running his fingers through the longer curls and Derek can’t help leaning into it, so there’s no way it’s gonna stay neat. 

 

He glances at his phone when he gets back to his room. No new messages, so he thumbs to Spotify and puts a playlist, toweling off and pulling on his Samwell sweatpants and a _Star Wars_ shirt he stole from Will’s dresser the first time he stayed the night. It’s a little tight across the shoulders, but it still smells a little like Dex’s dryer sheets and detergent. He smiles every time he puts it on, because he’s a sappy little shit.

 

His phone rings as he’s wandering barefoot back to the common room, and he picks up without looking at the caller ID. “Yo.”

 

“‘Yo’?” Dex’s voice comes through the line, warm and amused. “Really?”

 

Derek grins. “William, my dearest my darling, warmth and fire of my life, it’s always such a blessing to hear your dulcet tones--” Dex makes gagging noises in his ear, and Derek laughs. “What’s up, babe?”

 

“I’m outside. Wanna let me in?”

 

“Hm.” Derek taps on the door, and gets an answering rap from the other side. “I don’t know, what’s the magic word?”

 

“Open the door, fuckface,” Dex says, the eye-roll audible in his voice, and Derek snickers, pulling the door open and hanging up the call.

 

“I don’t think that was the magic word,” he begins, but Dex just rolls his eyes again, hooking a finger into the collar of Derek’s t-shirt and tugging him into a kiss, warm and fond.

 

“It is now,” Dex says when he pulls away. He sweeps his eyes over Derek, and then cocks an eyebrow. “Is that my shirt?”

 

Derek bats his eyelashes, feigning innocence. “No?”

 

Dex snorts. “You’re the worst,” he says, shouldering into the suite and hip-checking the door closed behind him. “Don’t think I haven’t realized you’re taking my flannels, either. You’re not subtle, Nurse.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Derek says idly, but he grins, reaching forward to tangle his fingers through Dex’s and pull him to the couch. He flops down and tugs on Dex’s hand until he shrugs off his backpack and sits down next to him, and then he slings his legs into Dex’s lap. “Hi.”

 

“Hi,” Dex says. He slips a hand down to curl his fingers around Derek’s ankle, running his thumb over the tendons. It’s not a possessive gesture, but it sends a warm tingle up Derek’s muscles anyway. “So. You’ve got an empty suite, huh?”

 

Derek grins. “I do,” he says. 

 

Dex’s eyes glint. “And what do you want to do with this empty suite?”

 

“I had an idea or two.” Derek reaches out for Dex’s free hand, and Dex cocks a brow but laces his fingers through Derek’s. “But, uh.” 

 

He hesitates, but Dex doesn’t say anything, just waits with his head tilted to one side, patient. 

 

(It’s been like that since about two weeks after they started dating, Dex giving him the space to think about what he wants, about how he wants to ask for it. It hadn’t started like that--the first few times they’d tried, after they made things official, Derek found himself stumbling a little over his thoughts, caught on an embarrassment and uncertainty he hadn’t felt when they were just hooking up. 

 

It took until the third halting conversation, on their sides in Derek’s bed, when Dex, exasperated, had huffed out, “Just _ask_ me, Nursey, fuck,” and Derek had immediately backtracked, mumbled that he didn’t want anything special, whatever, it didn’t matter, and then, to his own horror, had found himself crying. It had taken Dex twenty minutes to calm him down, and another half hour for him to get that Derek needed time to sort shit out in his head.

 

Derek’s still pretty sure it’s the memory of the crying that keeps Dex quiet while Derek’s thinking, not his later arguments about open communication and the need for clarity, but either way, it works for them, now.)

 

Derek takes a breath. “I’m just, uh, not sure if you’ll be into it,” he says finally. “Or if--if you’ll feel okay with it.”

 

Dex looks surprised. “Okay,” he says, slowly. He runs his thumb over the back of Derek’s knuckles, and a little of the tension seeps out of Derek’s shoulders. “If I’m not into it, or I’m not ready for it, I’ll tell you.” 

 

He brings Derek’s hand to his mouth and then tilts it back to kiss his wrist. “Tell me what you want, babe,” he murmurs.

 

His breath ghosts over the veins in Derek’s wrist as he says it, and Derek swallows, taking another slow breath and letting it out. “Will,” he says, because he can’t really concentrate like that, and Dex has the decency to look a little sheepish, taking his mouth away from Derek’s skin. 

 

“Sorry.” 

 

“It’s okay.” He likes it, a little, just because it always sends a warm shiver through him when he gets to see just how much Dex likes touching him. But they’ve got rules, and one of them is that Derek needs to have his shit together when they’re talking about stuff like this, so. He licks his lower lip, and then decides to just go for it.

 

“I want to try the blindfold again.”

 

Dex’s eyebrows shoot up, his lips parting. “Oh,” he says.

 

And...okay. Derek gets why he’s surprised. They’ve only tried blindfolding Derek once. It was the first and only time Derek has used his safeword. 

 

It was also, Derek can admit, a _total fucking disaster_.

 

(It had been too much too soon, he knows now. He’d been interested in sensory deprivation for awhile--he’s a poet, playing with his senses is practically a hobby for him, combining that with sex had just seemed obvious. Dex had been just as into the idea, his pupils blowing dark and wide, kissing Derek so fiercely Derek’s head had spun.

 

They’d been okay while Dex tied Derek’s hands to his headboard, okay while Dex covered Derek’s eyes with the blindfold that had come with the Bondage 101 kit they’d gotten online a few days after they started dating. They’d been okay while Dex ran his mouth over Derek’s skin, checking in softly, Derek shivering under his touch, his mind floating and warm.

 

They’d been okay all the way up to the point when Dex had realized they were out of condoms, had said, “Shit, lemme grab one from the common room,” dropped a kiss to Derek’s shoulder, then left him alone. And Derek’s mind had _shut the fuck down_.

 

He doesn’t actually remember much of what happened after that, only that his resulting panic attack hadn’t been pretty. Dex told him later that he’d been crying by the time Dex had gotten back, gasping out “ _jasmine_ ” between frantic gulps of air. Dex hadn’t bothered untying the knots around his wrists, had just grabbed the pocketknife out of his jeans and cut straight through the rope until he could pull Derek into his arms, babbling terrified apologies. 

 

Derek had been fine by morning, but Dex had admitted he spent most of the next day getting drunk in Holster’s room and freaking the fuck out. It had taken _weeks_ for Dex to feel okay tying Derek’s wrists again.

 

They’re always renegotiating, always still figuring things out, but that had been their wake-up call to slow things the fuck down.)

 

Now, Dex looks thoughtful, but not apprehensive, his thumb still running slow circles over Derek’s ankle. “Are you sure?” he asks finally.

 

“I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t,” Derek says. Which is true. He’d been sure last time, too; they’d just fucked up the execution. But they’ve gotten a lot better since then.

 

Dex nods slowly. “We fucked it up last time,” he says. It’s not chiding, but he doesn’t let Derek look away from him, either. He hesitates, then adds, “It scared the shit out of me, Derek.”

 

“I know, babe.” Derek squeezes his hand. “You can say no,” he adds. “It’s not just about my limits.”

 

“I know that.” Dex’s lips twitch, half a smile. “I don’t _not_ want to--I mean, I _do_ want to. It was hot as fuck, while you were okay. I just--I don’t wanna mess up like that again.”

 

“You won’t,” Derek points out. “We know where we fucked up before.”

 

Dex snorts. “Yeah. Don’t tie you up and then leave. Rule fucking one.”

 

Derek frowns. “ _Will_.”

 

He says it firmly enough that Dex huffs out an, “I know, I know.” He squeezes Derek’s ankle gently. “Sorry. I know you hate that.”

 

“I don’t _hate_ it,” Derek says, even though he kind of does. Dex takes the whole fucking weight of the world on his shoulders, and it’s a good thing, sometimes, because he cares _so much_ and he’s so fucking tender with Derek when he needs that, but he also hangs onto every fuck-up, even when it’s on both of them. “I just--it’s frustrating, a little.”

 

Dex nods. “I know,” he says again. He’s quiet for a moment, and Derek lets him think. Dex isn’t as frantic about it, but Derek knows he needs the time as much as Derek does. 

 

“Stoplights and a safeword,” Dex says finally. “And you can’t give me shit for extra check-ins.”

 

Derek makes a face at him. “I don’t give you _shit_ ,” he says.

 

Dex rolls his eyes, then pitches his voice into an imitation of Derek’s. “‘Will, I’m fine. Will, I’m good. Will, stop color-coding me and fuck me already.’”

 

“ _Rude_ , that’s a terrible impression.” Derek pulls his hand out of Dex’s and pokes his cheek. Dex nips at his fingertip, but he’s grinning a little, so Derek knows he’s not actually that annoyed with him. “And fine. No whining.”

 

“Good.” Dex pauses. “And I want at least one of your wrists with enough slack that you can pull the blindfold off if you need to.”

 

Derek frowns at that. “Why?”

 

Dex shrugs. “Because it’ll make me feel better?”

 

Derek narrows his eyes. “ _Will_ ,” he says again.

 

Because this communication shit goes both ways, and he’s not gonna let Dex out of it just because he doesn’t like talking about his feelings. Dex’s features pinch briefly, and then he sighs. He makes a _c’mere_ motion toward Derek’s hand, and Derek laces their fingers together again. “I’ll feel better knowing that you can get out if you’re scared,” he says quietly. “I know last time it wasn’t just having your wrists tied, it was having them tied and not being able to see. I just...I want to know that if I fuck up again, you’ve got an out.”

 

“You’re not gonna fuck up, Dex,” Derek says, as gently as he can. He runs his thumb over the backs of Dex’s knuckles. Two of them are still bruised from the Lax bro he’d punched out at the last kegster for talking shit to Bitty.

 

Dex hadn’t thought twice about throwing that punch, but here, with Derek, he can be hesitant. Soft. Derek kind of loves that.

 

“You’re not gonna fuck up,” he says again, and squeezes Dex’s hand. “But if you want me loose enough that I can take it off, that’s fine. Whatever you need.”

 

Dex smiles, pulling Derek’s hand a little closer to him so that he can kiss it. “Thank you.”

 

“Don’t thank me for following the rules.” Derek scooches closer to him on the couch, until his ass is flush against Dex’s thigh. “ _So_ ,” he says, meaningfully. “If we’re good _there_ …”

 

“Oh my God, you’re the actual fucking worst,” Dex says, rolling his eyes, but he reaches down to grab Derek around the waist, hauling him up into his lap. Derek goes, easy and grinning, settling down with his thighs on either side of Dex’s hips. “What if I wanted to watch a movie or something before you drag me off to bed?”

 

Derek smirks at him, leaning down to kiss his jaw. “I’ll Netflix and chill with you, baby,” he drawls, and Dex groans, poking him hard in the side, right where he’s ticklish. “Okay, okay, okay!” He bats Dex’s hand away, and then pouts until Dex rolls his eyes again and leans up to kiss him. 

 

He loves the way Dex kisses. He’s not the most graceful, but there’s always so much _feeling_ in it, in the way he tests for Derek’s reactions before he moves forward, presses harder, parts his lips. And he can be devastating when he wants to be, can take Derek apart with his mouth, kiss him until he’s senseless and shaking. Derek can give as good as he gets, most days, but sometimes he likes to just let Dex _take_.

 

Now, though, he kisses back, slips his tongue into Dex’s mouth and gets a pleased sound in return, Dex’s hands sliding warm and firm over his hips. He lets his hands rest on Dex’s neck, thumbs stroking along the edges of his jaw, skimming the smooth skin there. It ticks Dex off a little, he knows, that Derek will have have half a beard by nightfall even if he shaves in the morning and Dex can’t grow facial hair to save his life, but Derek likes it, likes the softness of his skin under his fingers. 

 

(Dex had told him once--admitted, really--that he doesn’t like to be soft. But Derek loves him when he is.)

 

Gently, Dex pulls his mouth away, then not-so-gently nips at Derek’s lower lip. “We should move this to bed,” he says. 

 

“Probably,” Derek agrees, leaning down and moving one of his hands so that he can kiss Dex’s neck. He tastes faintly like Old Spice body wash, and Derek licks delicately at his pulse. Dex shivers a little.

 

“ _Nursey_.”

 

“Okay, okay.” He picks his head up. “You don’t let me have any fun.”

 

Dex’s eyes flash, his hands tightening on Derek’s hips, and Derek’s whole body goes hot. “Don’t I?”

 

Derek swallows. “You do,” he says, and Dex grins.

 

“Thought so.” Smug used to be the look on Dex that pissed Derek off. Now it just turns him on. Dex drops his hands down and squeezes Derek’s ass through his sweatpants. “C’mon. Get up.”

 

Derek rolls his hips, just enough to feel Dex’s dick twitch a little in his jeans. “One more minute?” he teases.

 

“I will push you off,” Dex warns, but he’s grinning, and Derek laughs, clambering off him. “I swear to God, you’re fucking incorrigible.” He gets up and picks up his backpack, slinging it over his shoulder and grabbing Derek by the wrist. “C’mon.”

 

He tugs Derek down the hall, nudging open the door to Derek’s room like he owns the place and putting his bag down next to the bed. “Music?” he asks, turning to him.

 

“Sure.” Derek plugs his phone into his speakers, scrolling through playlists while Dex kicks off his shoes and pulls his socks off, shoving them into his sneakers. Briefly, he considers putting on some Britney just as a gag, but he actually wants to get laid, so he puts on his actual sex playlist instead. He gets a nod of approval from Dex, and puts his phone down on his desk. “So?” he asks.

 

Dex sits down on the bed. “Come here.” He spreads his knees slightly so that Derek can step between them, and then settles his hands back on Derek’s hips. “Tell me your safe word, baby.”

 

They go through this every time, like a ritual. It used to annoy him--he knows the damn word--but now he realizes that it’s reassurance for Dex as much as for him. “Jasmine,” he says quietly.

 

Dex smiles softly. “Good,” he says. He lifts a hand to Derek’s cheek, and Derek turns his face into the touch. “Tell me the difference between jasmine and red.”

 

That’s another rule. Derek licks his lip. “Red if I’m scared or anxious,” he says. “Jasmine for red, or if I need to stop but I can’t tell why.” It’s the best way they’ve found to make sense of it, and honestly, Derek likes it. He knows Dex does, too--it gives him something to go off, if Derek starts to shut down or freak out.

 

(“It just scares me, y’know?” Dex had murmured, curled around Derek in bed, running his thumbs over the slight indentations the ropes had made in Derek’s wrists. Derek was fine--he was _fine_ \--but he’d mumbled a _red_ and then changed his mind to _yellow_.

 

“I’m okay,” Derek insisted, leaning up to kiss Dex’s cheek. “Seriously, I am, I just--I got overwhelmed for a sec. Couldn’t think right. I’ll be okay to keep going in a minute.” 

 

Dex frowned, eyes troubled. “This is why you have a safe word, babe.”

 

“But if I use my safe word we stop everything and we’re done,” Derek said unhappily, watching the play of Dex’s thumbs over his skin. “It’s too final.”

 

“Final’s not _bad_ , baby. Not if you’re scared.” Dex pressed his mouth against Derek’s shoulder, but he looked thoughtful. “What if we figured out an in-between?”

 

Derek looked up at him. He smiled. “In-between sounds good.”)

 

Dex strokes his thumb over Derek’s cheekbone. “Good, babe,” he says. He’s freer with his pet names when they’re behind closed doors--Derek knows he’s nervous about fines anywhere else. He’s overcompensating, maybe. Derek doesn’t really mind. “Step back a bit?”

 

Derek steps back, Dex’s hand falling from his cheek, and Dex gets up, taking off his jeans and tossing them onto Derek’s desk chair. He tugs his hoodie off as well, bringing his t-shirt with it, and throws them on top of his jeans, then sits back on the bed, stripped down to his boxers. “Alright,” he says, crooking a finger. “Come back.” 

 

His eyes drifting over the patterns of freckles on Dex’s shoulders, Derek moves back to where he’d been before, between Dex’s legs, close enough to feel the warmth coming off his skin. He slips his fingers under the hem of his own shirt, questioning. “D’you want me to…”

 

Dex shakes his head. “Not yet,” he says. He reaches forward, slipping his hands under Derek’s shirt to settle on his waist. His face is calm, his eyes warm and a little soft. “I’ll take your clothes off you when I’m ready.” Derek shivers, and Dex’s lips twitch up. “Go grab the rope and blindfold for me?”

 

Derek swallows and nods, stepping away from Dex’s warmth and over to his closet, taking down the box where he’s been stashing their makeshift--and some official--bondage stuff and setting it down on his desk. He pulls out a length of rope and holds it up for Dex, raising a questioning eyebrow. 

 

Dex frowns, then shakes his head. “Longer than that,” he says. “Grab the blue one, I think.” 

 

“The blue one’s in your room,” Derek says, poking through the box. “I’ve got a white one?”

 

“That’ll work.” Dex holds out a hand. “Get the blindfold too, and come here.”

 

He finds the blindfold under a roll of bondage tape and brings it back to the bed, handing it and the rope to Dex. Dex unties the knot keeping the rope coiled, testing the length, and then runs his fingers over it, his expression thoughtful. “Good, okay,” he says. He puts them both down on the bed, and then looks at Derek. He smiles. “On your knees for me, love.”

 

Derek catches his breath, his knees going loose and a little weak. He sinks down to the floor, sitting back on his heels, grateful for the throw rug that covers half his room and gives a little cushion for his knees. He puts his hands on his knees and looks up at Dex, tilting his head to one side. 

 

“Good,” Dex says, and Derek smiles up at him, warmth tingling through him. “Stay there while I set up, okay? You can move your hands if you’re not comfortable, and you can keep your eyes open. No talking unless you need me.” 

 

Derek nods.

 

Dex bends down and kisses him, slow and sweet and easy, and Derek closes his eyes. Dex’s fingers ghost over the skin of his neck before he pulls away, and it takes some effort for Derek to drag his eyes open to watch him shift on the bed, unwinding the rope some more so that he can start winding it around the headboard. Derek watches the way the muscles in his back and arms and hands move, transfixed at the play of strong tendons and pale, freckled skin, the easy, confident, practiced movements. 

 

(It had taken them a few different types of restraints before they realized that ropes just worked best for them. The bondage kit with the blindfold had come with straps that could tie around a bed frame and velcro around wrists and ankles, but the fabric was cheap and stretched easily, and Dex hadn’t liked the way it rubbed at the skin of Derek’s wrists. The third time they left marks angry enough that Derek winced when his sleeves made contact even though the straps hadn't been tight, Dex threw them in the trash. 

 

Dex had suggested handcuffs once, and Derek had responded with a flat “ _no_ ”--and then, when Dex had pushed, proceeded to send him fifteen articles on police brutality and racialized policing and then just thrown his Black Lives Matter shirt at his face. Dex had backed down pretty quickly after that. They’d given bondage tape a try, and liked it okay when Derek was on his knees, but not in bed.

 

They kept coming back to the lengths of rope that Derek had ordered from Amazon on a whim while slightly--maybe more than slightly--tipsy on tub juice, until Dex finally admitted that he just liked it better when he was the one tying the knots.

 

“I just know what I’m doing with it, you know?” he’d said, running his fingertips through the cooling sweat on Derek’s abs. Derek shivered a little under the touch. “I know knots. I know how to get you out if I need to. And I like…” He flushed. “I like knowing that I’m good at something that makes you feel good.”

 

Derek shifted onto his side, leaning forward to kiss him. “Everything you do makes me feel good,” he said.

 

Dex’s lips tugged up into a smile. “Yeah, well,” he said. He squeezed Derek’s hip. “So. Ropes’re okay?”

 

His voice wrapped low and husky around the words, and Derek swallowed. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Ropes are okay.”)

 

“Derek?”

 

Derek pulls himself back to the present. He’d been drifting, he realizes, floating a little on memory and sensation. He blinks a few times and looks up at Dex, who’s crouching in front of him, eyes a little concerned. Derek opens his mouth to say he’s okay, then remembers he’s not supposed to talk unless he needs to. He closes his mouth again.

 

Dex smiles. “Good,” he says. He leans over and kisses Derek’s cheek. “Gimme a color, babe.”

 

“Green,” Derek says immediately. 

 

“All right.” Dex gets to his feet and holds out his hands. “Come here.” 

 

Derek slips his hands into Dex’s and lets Dex pull him up. He half-expects to be pushed onto the bed, but Dex pulls him into a kiss instead. It starts off sweet but gets dirty fast, Dex’s hands drifting under the hem of his shirt to pull him close, and Derek presses in against him, slipping his arms over Dex’s shoulders, using his hands while he still can. He squeezes Dex’s biceps and gets a warm groan in response, Dex’s hands wandering down and then dipping under the waistband of his sweatpants before Dex suddenly huffs out a laugh, breaking the kiss.

 

“No underwear, Derek? Really?”

 

“I just got out of the shower,” Derek says, a half-hearted protest, and Dex snorts, taking his hands out of Derek’s pants and tugging at the hem of his shirt. Obediently, Derek lifts his arms so that Dex can pull it over his head. “Besides, I knew you’d just take them off me.”

 

“Kinda presumptuous, don’t you think?” Dex drops the shirt and smooths his hands over Derek’s sides, long fingers running over his ribs and making Derek’s skin ripple into goosebumps, even though his touch is warm. “I mean, we don’t always have sex.”

 

Derek shrugs. “Then we’d be hanging out and I wouldn’t be wearing underwear. Wouldn’t be the first time.” Dex cocks an eyebrow at him, and Derek raises his right back. “Oh, come on, like you’ve never freeballed around me?”

 

Dex hesitates, and then nods. “Fair,” he says, and leans in, ducking his head into the crook of Derek’s neck to kiss his pulse. “I want to take you to bed, now,” he murmurs into Derek’s skin, and all of the snark bleeds out of Derek’s brain. He feels his fingers twitch slightly on Dex’s hips, and he doesn’t even know when he put them there. “Can I?”

 

“Yes.” Derek’s voice comes out soft and breathless. He swallows. “Yeah, Will.” 

 

Dex smiles, leaning in to kiss him again, gentler this time, before he pulls away and nods toward the bed. “On your back. Leave your sweats on for now, okay?” 

 

He’s always a little tentative when they start, asking more than telling. Derek nods, leaning forward to sneak a kiss to his cheek before climbing onto the bed, flopping onto his back and scooting until his head is on the pillows. Dex has already stripped his blankets down to the foot of the bed, because he’s smart and considerate and knows how much Derek hates getting lube and come all over his duvet. 

 

Hesitantly, he starts to lift his hands over his head, but Dex shakes his head. “Leave them,” he says. He climbs up, straddling Derek’s hips, and Derek catches his breath--he can feel Dex’s hard-on against his hip, and he shifts a little, trying to press into him. Dex swats at him. “Stop that,” he says. “We’re taking it slow.” 

 

Derek raises his eyebrows. “Yeah?”

 

“Yeah.” Dex bends down, putting his weight on his forearms, his chest resting against Derek’s. “That’s not a problem, is it?”

 

Derek’s mouth goes dry. “No,” he says. “Not a problem.” He curls his hands into fists, then unclenches them. “Can I touch you?”

 

Dex smiles. “Till I tell you you can’t,” he says, and it’s really only half an answer, but Derek reaches up anyway, wraps his arms around Dex’s neck and pulls him down for a kiss. Dex slips his tongue into his mouth, one hand curling over Derek’s jaw to keep him at the angle he wants, and Derek lets him take and take, content to run his hands over Dex’s warm, smooth skin. Dex always seems to run hot, and he shivers slightly at the touch of Derek’s always-cold fingertips. 

 

(“Complementary temperatures,” Derek had teased once.

 

“You have a fucking circulation problem,” Dex had hissed back, squirming. “Go a _way_.”)

 

They spend a while just kissing, slow and easy. It’s familiar now, kissing Dex, but Derek doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of it. He runs his fingers through Dex’s hair and skims his fingertips over his shoulders and revels in the weight of Dex’s chest against his, feeling himself sink a little deeper into the mattress, a little deeper into that warm, comfortable space inside his head. 

 

Gently, Dex trails one hand down over his side, his fingers brushing over the tattoo on his ribs. He moves slightly, his dick dragging over Derek’s, and Derek groans a little into his mouth, feels the huff of Dex’s answering laugh. “Easy, babe,” he murmurs, reaching down and palming Derek’s ass through the fabric of his sweats. “We’ll get there.” 

 

Derek nuzzles his nose against Dex’s. “Soon?” he asks, mostly playful.

 

Dex laughs. “Yeah, baby, soon.” He catches Derek’s lower lip between his teeth, sucking on it lightly until Derek whimpers in half-hearted protest, then pulls him back into a proper kiss, deep and lingering. It’s hotter and slicker than before, and Derek leans into it, shuddering. 

 

He loses track of how much time has passed before Dex finally shifts his weight onto his knees and reaches back to take hold of both of Derek’s hands, pulling them away from his skin and pressing them back above his head, onto the pillow. Derek forces his eyes open, looking up at him, and Dex looks back, warm and flushed. “Hey,” he says.

 

Derek swallows once, twice. “Hey,” he says. His lips feel pleasantly sore from all the kissing.

 

“I’m gonna tie your wrists now,” Dex says, squeezing his hands gently around Derek’s wrists. Derek shivers a little in response. “Okay?” Derek nods, and Dex shakes his head. “Use your words, babe.”

 

“I’m good,” Derek says. He flexes his fingers and smiles. “I’m green. You can tie them.”

 

Dex grins down at him, bending to kiss the spot just under his jaw that always makes Derek squirm. He presses Derek’s hands into the pillow, a firm sign for _leave them_ , and then reaches back for the rope. “One of them’s gonna have more slack,” he says. “Got a preference?”

 

“Left,” Derek says immediately. It’s his dominant hand--if he’s going to need to get out, he might as well be able to do it with at least some level of coordination. 

 

“Okay.” Dex picks up his left hand, running his thumb gently over the tendons of Derek’s wrist, and then starts twining the rope around it. “Just so you know, that was the right answer. Not that there was a right answer.”

  
Derek hums in half-agreement, more focused on the sensation of the rope against his skin. It has an almost Pavlovian effect on him now, taking him downdown _down_ , even as he feels his mind start to float, to go soft and peaceful. He tilts his head back, watching Dex work through half-lidded eyes, the easy way he loops and twists the rope, his long fingers dipping through and around it.

 

He’s a little curious to know whether this is a bondage knot or a boat knot, but he knows better than to ask. 

 

Dex pulls the knot taut when he finishes, then slips a finger between the rope and Derek’s wrist to test the tightness. He nods to himself in satisfaction, then looks at Derek, touching his cheek. “Hey,” he says, and waits until Derek drags his gaze up to meet his eyes before he says, “pull for me?” 

 

Obediently, Derek pulls against the knot. Dex tracks the motion with his eyes. “Did it get any tighter?” Derek shakes his head, and Dex nods again. “Good. Can you reach your face?” Derek pulls his hand toward his eyes. It’s close, but he can get his hand to where he’d need to if he wanted to pull off a blindfold. 

 

“Okay.” Dex smiles, stroking his hand over Derek’s cheek. “You good? You feel okay?”

 

“Yeah.” Derek turns his face into Dex’s palm, pressing his mouth to his lifeline. He gets a gentle brush of Dex’s other hand through his hair in return.

 

“Can I do the other one?”

 

“Yeah. Green, Will.”

 

Dex’s lips curve up, and he leans down to kiss Derek’s cheek before reaching back to repeat the process with his right wrist. Derek watches Dex’s face instead of his hands this time--it’s set in an expression of calm concentration, careful and gentle. 

 

Derek thinks back to the day they met, jumping at each other’s throats, angry and biting, and wonders if he could have ever, ever seen this coming. He thinks he probably couldn’t.

 

(Well. They still bite. But he likes it a lot more, these days.)

 

Dex finishes and pulls away. “Test this one for me, babe?” Derek pulls, the knot holding but not tightening. He nods up at him, and Dex smiles. “Good.” 

 

He runs his hands up Derek’s arms, his touch firm enough that it doesn’t tickle, and curls his hands around Derek’s forearms, just under the loops of rope, bending down to kiss him softly. “You look so gorgeous like this,” he says quietly, and Derek swallows, shivering slightly. Dex had learned early and quickly that the fastest way to Derek’s heart--and his dick--was through praise, and he takes advantage of it shamelessly. 

 

“Dex,” he says, hoarsely, shifting his hips. He’s not restless, and his sweatpants are loose enough that he doesn’t feel like his dick is being strangled, but he wants…

 

...he doesn’t know exactly what he wants. It’s part of the reason he puts Dex in charge. 

 

But Dex just gives him a half-teasing grin, adjusting his weight so that the line of his dick drags along Derek’s. “Yeah, babe?” He squeezes Derek’s arms gently. “What do you want?”

 

(Once, they’d tried watching BDSM porn for ideas. It had ended up being more of an exercise in learning what they _didn’t_ like than what they did. The stuff with restraints had been okay, but the tone of the scene had been darker than anything he and Dex had ever tried, and Derek had looked uneasily at Dex when the Dom had started in with the humiliation. 

 

Dex had looked back, his expression disturbed and uncomfortable. “You don’t want…”

 

“ _No_ ,” Derek said, emphatic, and Dex sighed, looping an arm around him and tugging him close, pressing a relieved kiss to his cheek.

 

They made it through another four or five minutes, but when the hitting started, Dex reached over and stopped the video. “I can’t,” he said, turning to Derek with wide, nervous eyes. “Derek, I can’t do that, please don’t ask me to--”

 

“I don’t want that,” Derek said, closing the laptop and climbing into Dex’s lap, wrapping his arms around him. Dex was shaking, and immediately tucked his face into Derek’s neck, pressing close. “I’d never ask you for that.”

 

“I want to take care of you,” Dex mumbled into his neck. “Not hurt you.” 

 

Derek stroked his hair gently. “Sounds good to me.”)

 

“I want--” Derek cuts himself off before he can say _whatever you want_ ; he knows that’s not the right answer here. 

 

“Kiss me?” he says instead, and Dex grins wider before he bends down to press his mouth to Derek’s, kissing him slow and wet and deep. Derek melts into it, lets Dex’s weight press him down into the mattress, heavy but not smothering. Dex bites at his lower lip, the pain just sharp enough to draw Derek back off the cloud he’s been floating on, and he turns his head, pulling Dex’s lip into his mouth and sucking hard in retaliation.

 

Dex breaks the kiss with a laugh, giving Derek a quick peck. “I was just making sure you were still with me,” he says, trailing kisses over Derek’s cheek and jaw. “Don’t think I don’t know how you get.”

 

Derek starts to open his mouth to protest, but Dex’s mouth closes around the spot just below his jaw that always makes him shudder, and he loses his words on a squirming moan, his hands jerking forward even though it’s pointless. Dex chuckles against his skin, kissing him in the same spot, and then working his way down over Derek’s neck.

 

By the time he scrapes his teeth over Derek’s pulse, Derek is shaking, one leg hooked around Dex’s waist in an attempt to get him closer. He’s stuck in that too-much-not-enough, ticklish-pleasure-pain loop that makes his nerves spark, and he’s probably making way too much noise, a constant stream of “fuck, baby, please please please,” but Dex isn’t complaining, so he doesn’t bother keeping his voice down. 

 

“I want to mark you up,” Dex says into his skin, his voice gravel-rough. He trails one hand down to curl it around Derek’s hip and then lower, squeezing his ass through his sweats. Derek catches his breath on a whine. “Can I?”

 

He licks over the juncture of Derek’s neck and shoulder, and Derek groans. “The team’ll see,” he protests, half-hearted. 

 

“They don’t have to know it’s me.” Dex kisses the same spot, harder this time. Derek bites his lip. “C’mon. Let me?”

 

Derek shudders. “Yes,” he manages, tilting his head to give Dex more room.

 

Dex sucks in a breath. “Fuck, you’re so good, babe,” he whispers. He kisses him, brief but toe-curling, and then curls a hand around his jaw and turns his head so that he can duck down into the crook of his neck, fixing his mouth to Derek’s skin. He sucks _hard_ , lips and tongue working in tandem, and Derek arches off the bed, arms pulling against the ropes. 

 

“Dex,” he chokes out. “Will, Will, _fuck_.” 

 

He’s gonna get chirped to shit at practice, knowing grins from Ransom and Holster and good-natured whistles from everyone else, but Dex’s mouth on his skin just feels good, good enough that he doesn’t even care how many “well, I hope you’re making good choices, honey”s he has to endure from Bitty. 

 

There’s a small, smug smile on Dex’s lips when he finally lifts his head, and he brings one thumb up, pressing down on the spot he’d been sucking. Pain flares up, sweet and sudden, and Derek sucks in a sharp breath. Dex’s grin widens. “Good?”

 

Not trusting his voice, Derek nods. 

 

Dex takes his hand away. “Use your words, Derek.”

 

Derek swallows. “Good, Will,” he manages. 

 

He picks his head up, trying to get close enough to Dex to kiss him, and Dex leans down to indulge him, brushing their lips together slow and soft. Dex’s hands slide into his hair, toying gently with the shorter strands on the sides before his fingers move up to play with the curls. Derek grins into the kiss before he can stop himself, and Dex pulls away. “What?”

 

Derek shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says. Dex looks at him skeptically, and Derek shrugs as much as he can with his hands tied. “I didn’t put much product in because I knew you were gonna mess with it.”

 

Dex snorts, then tousles Derek’s hair roughly before leaning down to kiss him again. Derek hums happily into the kiss, then does it again when Dex shifts more of his weight onto his body, rolling his hips gently, the length of his erection sliding against Derek’s once, twice. “So good for me, babe,” Dex murmurs when he pulls back, close enough that his lips brush against Derek’s as he speaks. “You sure you want your eyes covered? We can stay like this.”

 

“I’m sure.” Derek turns his head, bumping his nose against Dex’s cheek. If he’d had his hands free he’d brush his fingers over it, but this is the best he can do. 

 

“Okay.” Dex kisses the tip of his nose. “Close your eyes for me.” 

 

Derek closes his eyes. A moment later, he feels the press of Dex’s hand over his eyelids. It’s a warm, gentle pressure, but his heart rate picks up all the same at the sudden darkness, his breath quickening in his lungs. 

 

“Derek?” Dex’s voice is soft, tinged with concern. “Are you okay?” Derek nods, a little hesitantly, and feels the brush of Dex’s hair against his cheek as Dex shakes his head. “Need your voice, Derek, give me a color.”

 

“Yellow,” Derek whispers. His throat feels tight. “Sorry. I just...I need a minute.”

 

Dex kisses his cheek. “Of course,” he says. “Derek, yeah, of course.” His lips press against Derek’s jaw, his hand still gentle over his eyes. “That was so good, baby, telling me what you needed. So good.” 

 

Derek shakes under the praise, eyes stinging. “Will you touch me?”

 

“Yeah, babe.” Dex’s other hand touches his cheek, then drifts lower, over his jaw, his neck, his chest. Derek breathes, the initial panic of _dark-tied-trapped_ beginning to fade to something gentler, safer. The touch is firm and grounding, and Derek’s pretty sure it’s not supposed to be turning him on, but it does. Dex thumbs over one of his nipples and Derek catches his breath, hears Dex’s soft, answering chuckle. “You like that?”

 

“Yes,” he breathes. 

 

Dex moves his hand away from his chest, curling it over Derek’s side instead, and Derek feels a pang of loss for half a second until his mouth replaces his thumb, warm and wet. He licks Derek’s nipple and then scrapes his teeth against it, and Derek yelps, startled. 

 

Dex laughs. “Sorry.” He kisses it in apology, sucking gently, and Derek sucks in a breath, arching up.

 

“ _Will_ ,” he whines. 

 

He gets a muffled groan in response, half-buried in his chest, and then Dex picks his head up, cool air against the dampness left on his skin making him shiver. “More, baby?”

 

“I...uh-uh.” Derek shakes his head, eyelashes brushing Dex’s palm. “You can...blindfold. I’m good.”’

 

“Whatever you want.” Dex kisses his cheek and then shifts his weight forward for a moment before he settles back over Derek’s hips. “Lift your head for me?”

 

Derek picks his head up and Dex loops the band of the blindfold over the back of his head. “I’m going to take my hand away and it’s gonna be just the fabric,” he says. “Are you ready for that, or do you need another minute?”

 

“I’m okay. You can.” 

 

Dex slips his hand away and the soft fabric of the blindfold slides into place over Derek’s eyelids. Derek takes a deep breath, settling his heart rate down, and smiles, bumping Dex’s shoulder with his knee. 

 

“Green,” he says.

 

Dex laughs, and a moment later there are warm lips on his. Derek leans into the kiss, humming happily when Dex shifts so that his chest presses down against his, hands curling over Derek’s cheeks. “You’re so good, baby,” Dex mumbles against his mouth, his voice thick with desire and something that sounds a lot like awe. “You look so fucking beautiful like this.” 

 

Derek smiles dopily into the praise, looping his legs around Dex’s waist. “Yeah?”

 

“Yeah.” Dex drops another kiss to his lips, and then starts working his way down again, bypassing Derek’s neck and going right for his collarbone, then lower, trailing over his abs. Derek rolls his hips up, grinding against Dex’s dick, and Dex groans into his skin. “Fuck. What do you want, babe?”

 

“Dealer’s choice,” Derek breathes. 

 

Dex chuckles. “You’re gonna have to let me think about it.” He tugs at the elastic of Derek’s sweatpants. “Can I take these off?”

 

“ _Fuck_ yes.” 

 

Warm hands curl into the waistband of his sweats and pull them down. The soft fabric drags over the head of his dick and Derek hisses through his teeth. He hears a low chuckle somewhere in the vicinity of his hips before a wet mouth closes over his hipbone. He squirms. “ _Will_.”

 

“Ticklish?”

 

“ _Yes_ ,” he whines.

 

Another laugh. “Sorry,” Dex says.

 

“You don’t _sound_ sorry,” Derek grumbles. 

 

“...yeah, well.” 

 

Derek opens his mouth to whine at him some more, but a warm, wet tongue slides over the head of his dick, and anything he could have said gets lost in the strangled moan that makes it past his lips. “Will,” he manages, and Dex laughs, his breath ghosting over Derek’s dick and making him shudder.

 

“Yeah, sweetheart, I’ve got you.” He licks over the head and then closes his mouth around it and Derek has to fight to keep his hips from thrusting up, whimpering. 

 

Dex’s mouth is hot and slick and it’s so, so good. All of the sensations feel heightened without his eyes, the wetness wetter and the heat hotter, and Derek feels a familiar tightening sooner than he expects. “Yellow,” he gasps. “Will--”

 

Dex pulls off. “Derek, you okay?”

 

He laughs, shakily, trying to get himself under control. “Yeah, I just--too close.”

 

“Oh.” Dex chuckles, dropping a light kiss to Derek’s hip and then sliding back up his body. His weight settles down on top of Derek’s chest and Derek makes a pleased sound, the pressure grounding and heavy and _safe_. He shifts to settle his legs around Dex’s waist, pulling him a little closer. Dex’s erection brushes his, bare and hot, and he startles--he hadn’t realized Dex had taken his underwear off. 

 

Before he can say anything, Dex presses a soft kiss under his ear. “Color, baby?”

 

Derek nuzzles his cheek against him. “Green.”

 

Dex kisses his neck. “You look incredible,” he murmurs. “I gotta admit, I’m a little torn right now.”

 

Derek shivers at the brush of Dex’s lips over his pulse. “Yeah?”

 

“Uh-huh.” Another kiss, sparks prickling along his skin, carried along with his blood. “Because I kind of wanna ride you,” he says, and Derek’s breath catches in his throat. “But I don’t know if I trust you not to come if I sit on your dick.”

 

“Probably a safe guess,” Derek says shakily, because he knows his own limits, and Dex sinking onto him right now would probably actually kill him. “What’s option two?”

 

Warm lips brush over his collarbone, followed by a wet tongue, tracing over his skin. Derek bites his lip. “Option two,” Dex says, his breath ghosting along Derek’s damp skin and making Derek shiver, “is that I open you up and fuck you until you’re begging me to let you come.”

 

He punctuates that with a sharp nip at Derek’s collarbone, and Derek whimpers “ _Jesus_ ,” arching up against him. Dex rolls his hips down, the damp head of his dick rubbing over Derek’s abs, groaning roughly into Derek’s skin, and Derek shudders. “You really trust me not to come like _that_?”

 

“I’ve got a little more control over it,” Dex says.

 

“You’ve got control over a lot of things,” Derek says, and Dex laughs, biting at his neck this time. Derek whines at him, pushing his hips up, and Dex’s hand finds one of them and pushes him firmly back into the mattress.

 

“Stay, baby.”

 

Derek bites his lip. “Kay,” he says. He’s so hard, and he’s shaking, fuck. 

 

Dex kisses his neck once, twice. “What do you want, sweetheart?”

 

Derek thinks for a minute. It’s hard. His brain feels like a floaty swirl, too many possibilities to really make sense, even though he knows Dex really only gave him two options. 

 

They both sound too good. He can’t choose. He decides to go with his default.

 

“To suck your dick?” he tries.

 

There’s a pause, and then Dex snorts. “That wasn’t one of the choices, Derek.”

 

“I know.” He grins in what he hopes is the direction of Dex’s face. “But I’m very cute and I give good head and you should let me.”

 

Another snort. “You’re fucking ridiculous,” Dex says, and then there are lips on his. Derek kisses back happily, lifting his head off the pillow. A hand slips in to support the back of his head and neck and he hums in appreciation, leaning into the kiss and letting Dex slip his tongue into his mouth. It’s deep and toe-curling and he’s shuddering by the time Dex pulls away, a soft sound of protest leaving him as he tries to chase his lips and gets caught on his bound hands. 

 

“Easy,” Dex says, firm but gentle. “I’m gonna move, okay? But I’m not leaving. Just gonna be on the bed next to you.” Derek nods, and Dex’s weight shifts off him. A moment later there are hands at his shoulders, guiding him back until he’s further up on the pillows, and he lets Dex move him, trying to be as cooperative as he can. “Shoulders okay?” 

 

Derek tests them. The new position isn’t as comfortable, but it’s alright. “Mmhm.” 

 

“Okay.” The mattress dips, and then Dex’s weight settles back onto him, high up on his chest now. The silk-soft skin of his dick brushes Derek’s chin, and he almost leans forward before he remembers not to. He _does_ suck his bottom lip into his mouth. 

 

“Good, baby,” Dex murmurs. Long, slender fingers slide into his hair, and then a hand taps one of his. Automatically, he spreads his fingers, and Dex’s lace with his. “Gonna let you suck me,” Dex says softly. “I’ll squeeze once to check in. If you’re good, squeeze back once. If you need me to stop, squeeze twice. If you need to tell me red or jasmine, let go completely. Okay?”

 

“Okay,” Derek says.

 

“Good.” Dex strokes his hair. “And _don’t_ make me come,” he says, like it’s an afterthought. 

 

Derek laughs, turning his head to bump his nose against Dex’s dick. “Okay,” he says, agreeable. Right now, he’s pretty sure Dex could talk him into everything.

 

“Hey.” Gentle fingers touch his cheek. “Give me a color?”

 

“Green, babe. So green.”

 

“God. Okay.” A soft stroke of a thumb over his jaw, and then, “Open your mouth for me, sweetheart.”  


He does, and Will finally, _finally_ slides his dick into his mouth. Derek closes his lips around the head and moans because he’s fucking shameless and he knows it, and Dex groans above him, the hand not threaded through Derek’s sliding back into his hair. “ _Fuck_ , Derek.” 

 

Derek responds by sliding his head back, licking at the slit, salt slicker than water beading up under his tongue. Dex’s hand tightens in his curls and he wraps his lips around him again, savoring the heft of him in his mouth. 

 

He usually has his eyes closed when he does this, but everything feels more intense with the pressure of the blindfold over his eyelids, the press of the rope around his wrists. Dex’s hips hitch forward slightly, his dick sliding further into Derek’s mouth, and his hand tightens around Derek’s. 

 

It’s a lot, but Derek squeezes back once, relaxing his throat and pushing his head forward to meet him. Dex shudders, chokes out, “God, baby, so good,” rocking into his mouth, and Derek melts into his thrusts. Everything feels slick and easy, and he can hear himself moaning, the sounds half-muffled by Dex’s cock in his mouth, but _fuck_ , it’s so...it’s so good. 

 

All too soon, Dex hisses out a “ _shit_ , baby, stop, stop,” and Derek relaxes his jaw with only a little reluctance. Dex pulls out, and an instant later there are lips on his, kissing him long and deep and messy, two hundred pounds and then some of hockey player draping over him as Dex readjusts his weight. 

 

Derek wraps his legs around him again and kisses back, a little sloppily because his jaw is sore, and Dex pulls away to mumble, “so good, Derek, you’re so good for me, fuck. Gonna open you up for me, fuck you so deep, okay? You want that?” Derek nods into his shoulder, and Dex kisses his neck. “Use your words, baby. Gimme a color.”

 

“Green,” he mumbles. “’m so good, babe.”

 

A soft laugh, and the sound of a drawer opening, rummaging. One of his hands stays firm on Derek’s shoulder, his weight settled over his hips, grounding and heavy. Derek lets himself drift, paying more attention to the feel of Dex’s skin on his, sweat-damp and warm. He can still taste Dex’s pre-come in his mouth, salty and slick. 

 

He feels so, so fucking good, warm and soft and happy and _safe_ , even though his eyes are covered and his hands are bound. Will has him, Will won’t let anything happen to him. Will’s gonna take care of him. 

 

More noises--the drawer sliding shut, the snap of a glove. Will’s hand moves from his shoulder to the middle of his chest, gentle. “Derek? You still with me, sweetheart?”

 

“Yeah,” Derek says. He wiggles the fingers of one hand in a wave, and gets a quiet laugh in return. “Green. Still here. Still good.”

 

“Alright. I’m gonna move off you, okay? Not goin’ anywhere, though.” Derek hums his agreement. Will’s weight leaves his waist, and a moment later, the mattress dips, warm hands--one gloved, one bare--slide up his thighs, parting his legs. Soft lips touch his belly, and he squirms, ticklish.

 

“ _Will_.”

 

A chuckle. “Couldn’t resist.” The hands on his thighs move down to squeeze his ass, and then a hot, wet tongue slides along the crease between his balls and his inner thigh. Derek moans, high and startled.

 

“Will, _fuck_.”

 

Another squeeze, and then the click of the cap on the bottle of lube, a cold, slick finger tracing over his hole. “Eventually,” Will mumbles against his thigh, “we gotta figure out some kinda system where I can rim you and then kiss you without leaving to rinse my mouth out while you’re tied. I like it better when I can open you up with my tongue.”

 

Derek feels his entire body shudder. He can’t _believe_ he ever fucking thought this boy was straight. “Will,” he whimpers, “Will, baby, please, _please_ \--”

 

Will presses his finger in, gently, slowly, and Derek arches his hips up to meet him, desperate for it. His body takes it easily, used to this, but his nerves light up like sparked wires, everything heightened by his covered eyes. Will goes slow, moving in long, easy strokes, peppering kisses over Derek’s neck. “So good, babe,” he murmurs. “This okay?”

 

“Yeah,” Derek breathes. 

 

A soft hum of approval, another long thrust of that finger inside him. Will shifts his angle and the pad of his finger just barely grazes Derek’s prostate, and Derek chokes out a gasp, hips twitching. “Will--”

 

The touch recedes, and he whines. “ _Babe_.” 

 

Will laughs, kisses his neck gently. “Not trying to edge you, baby,” he says.

 

“But _still_.” Derek lifts his hips, trying to get closer, and Will slides his finger back out to the first knuckle. “Will, c’mon.” 

 

Another kiss to his neck, then to his cheekbone, light and sweet. “Ask nicely.” 

 

“More? Please?”

 

“Mm. Okay.” Will’s lips find his and Derek kisses back almost greedily, moaning into his mouth when another slick finger traces over him and then pushes in next to the first. Derek groans, arches, rolls his hips to try to get him closer, deeper, but Will holds his pace: slow, slow, so fucking slow, and so fucking _good_ , sliding lube-slick and easy inside him. 

 

“Fuck,” Will breathes, his breath ghosting over Derek’s neck. “You always take this so fucking well, babe. Don't know how you do it. I always wanna tense up.” 

 

Derek chokes out a breathless laugh. “Practice.” He takes himself to at least two if he fingers himself when he jerks off, and his fingers are thicker than Will’s. 

 

But Will is more deliberate, is slow and devastating and wants to take him apart. Derek shifts slightly, trying to change the angle of Will’s fingers, to get them against his prostate, and gets Will’s other hand firm on his hip, pressing him down. 

 

“Derek.” Stern, not sharp. “You know better.”

 

Derek squirms, more for show than any real attempt to go anywhere, and pouts in the general direction of Will’s voice. “ _Babe_ ,” he whines. “I want--”

 

A bite at his collarbone. “I know what you want, baby. And you can wait for it.”

 

The fingers inside him slide free--he whimpers, and gets a much softer kiss to the side of his neck--and then press back in, angling against his prostate this time. Derek arches up with a yell and Will soothes him with a kiss to his jaw, his cheek, his lips, swallowing his shuddering moan. “Yeah, there it is,” he murmurs against Derek’s lips. “That the spot, babe?”

 

“Yes, fuck,” Derek gasps, his nails digging into his palms, sharp and fierce. He’s curling in on himself, knees bent almost to his shoulders, heels tucked against Will’s sides. “Will, Will, fuck, please, baby, please, more.”

 

“Soon, sweetheart.” Will keeps his thrusts slow, so fucking slow, and Derek whimpers--it’s good, but he wants _more_ , and he can’t fucking take it.

 

“ _Will_ ,” he begs, and Will finally chuckles against his cheek, low and husky.

 

“Alright.” 

 

Both fingers slide out of him again and he makes a soft sound of protest. He hears the click of the lube cap, the _slick_ -squeeze of the bottle, and then Will’s hand is back against him, spreading his cheeks. 

 

Three fingers press into him and fuck, _fuck_ , that’s the stretch he wanted, so fucking good. He can usually take two of Will’s fingers pretty easily, but three is where he starts to feel it. He’s greedy for this, for the stretch and burn of it, for knowing he’ll feel it for hours. Derek rolls his hips into it, wanton and breathless, and Will murmurs approving encouragements into his ear, an endless stream of “yeah, sweetheart, so fucking good, that’s gorgeous, you open up so fucking good for me” that makes him shudder and shake. 

 

Will’s deliberately missing his prostate, he realizes, grazing it every few strokes or so but being careful not to hit it too often. Derek bites his lip, clenching and unclenching his fists. He’s been hard for what feels like an eternity, but he’s off that edge he’d been skirting earlier. Still, he feels _incredible_ , hot and held and open and spiraling. 

 

“You look fucking amazing right now, God,” Will says against his ear, close enough that Derek shivers, turning his head and seeking out his lips. Will catches his mouth in a kiss, soft and fleeting, short enough that when he pulls away, Derek tries to follow and is left searching. He whimpers, and gets a gentle hand through his hair. “Wish you could fucking see yourself, babe.”

 

“Don’t need to,” Derek breathes. “Got you to see me. All I need.” Will kisses him again, thrusts his fingers in deep, and Derek moans. “Baby, feels so good, fuck.” 

 

The fingers inside him draw away and he hears the lube bottle click open before he’s stretched open again, Will’s fingers wetter and slicker. They slide back into him and he groans, bearing down and rolling his hips. Will lets him, murmurs a soft “so hot, sweetheart,” against his ear, kisses his temple. 

 

Derek shudders. Will must be bent over him; he can feel the heat coming off his chest, can feel the hot weight of his cock against his stomach. The head of his own dick is wet and leaking everywhere, he's probably making a mess of his abs. He cranes his neck up, whispers, “baby,” and Will kisses his cheek. 

 

“This is still three,” he says softly. “You want one more?”

 

Derek hesitates. It's the middle of the season; it's probably not the best idea. But they don't have a game til next weekend, and he can take it, he knows he can. And it’d feel so good, Will stretching him wide open, sensation pushed even higher by the lack of vision…

 

“Yeah,” he whispers, and hears Will suck in a breath. “Yeah, one more. Slow?”

 

Will groans, and a moment later there are lips on his, hot and urgent. “Yeah,” he says against Derek’s mouth, after a kiss that leaves him trembling. “Yeah, babe, slow as you need, _fuck_ , you're so amazing.”

 

Derek turns his head into Will’s neck, unable to tell at this point if his cheeks are hot from the praise or just from all the heat coursing through him. 

 

He hears the cap of the lube, and Will’s lips touch his neck, then trail over his jaw, feather-light. “Tell me when,” he murmurs against Derek’s skin, his pinky just brushing the place where the rest of his fingers are already inside him. 

 

Derek takes a breath. “Gimme your other hand?” Immediately, Will’s free fingers thread through his, and Derek squeezes once. Will squeezes back, warm and reassuring. “Kay,” he says. “Now? I'm ready.”

 

Will kisses his pulse and nudges his pinky in. He goes slow, a knuckle at a time, but it's a _lot_. Color blooms behind his eyes, bright and brilliant, and the air leaves Derek’s lungs on a groan.

 

“Fuck,” Will breathes, his voice reverent. “Oh, my God, baby, you're so fucking tight right now. Are you okay?”

 

Words aren't happening right now, not a chance. Derek squeezes Will’s hand again, a nonverbal green light, and Will moans, kisses his shoulder, his collarbone, his chin. “You're so good, Derek. Can't believe how amazing you are. I'm so fucking lucky. You're so good, so perfect for me. I'm so proud of you, sweetheart.”

 

Derek whimpers, his eyes stinging. He clenches his hand around Will’s again when Will makes a concerned sound, pressing his knees frantically against Will’s shoulders. He might actually die if Will stops now. 

 

“Derek, fuck.” Will presses a soft kiss to his lips and Derek barely registers it until it's over, too fucking lost in sensation. “Fuck, baby, you still good?”

 

“So good,” Derek chokes out. Every nerve in his body feels like it's turned on, lighting up like a power grid. “Babe, god, it feels…”

 

He trails off when a thrust of Will’s fingers hits his prostate and short-circuits his brain, but Will gives a breathless laugh. “Feels what, baby? C’mon, you're the poet. Tell me.”

 

Trust William fucking Poindexter to turn chirping into dirty talk, but Derek’s too far gone to care. He swallows, rolling his hips into Will’s fingers, and just lets his mouth run, all the stupid, romantic shit he usually bites back spilling free. 

 

“Feels so good, baby, so fucking full. Feels so _bright_ , like you're reaching inside me, setting off supernovas in my nerves, lighting me up. It's what you do, always, find the darkest places inside me and turn them into galaxies, you make fucking constellations out of the mess of my mind and you turn my body into a nebula, color your marks across my skin and crack lightning through my neurons and _fuck_ , baby, babe, _God_ \--”

 

It's too good and too much and he breaks off with a choked moan, but then Will’s lips are on his, hard and fierce and almost desperate, the kiss searing. 

 

“I need to fuck you,” Will gasps against his mouth, his voice breathless, wrecked. “Baby, please tell me you're ready, I need to.”

 

“Fucking _please_ ,” Derek begs, and it must be clear enough, because Will kisses him again, just as hot as before.

 

“Gonna pull my fingers out, baby, okay? Relax for me.” Derek mumbles an assent but still whines at the uncomfortable emptiness as Will draws his fingers away, pressing soothing kisses to his cheekbone as he does. 

 

He hears the sound of the glove falling into the trash can and then both of Will’s hands are back on him, one on his shoulder, one on his hip. “I'm gonna move you,” Will says gently. “That alright?”

 

“Yeah,” Derek slurs. He wiggles his hips a little; it’s the most movement he can muster. “Go for it.”

 

Will squeezes his hip and then rolls him onto his right side, gently moving Derek's left arm away from his face and using the extra slack in the rope to guide his hand up until Derek curls his fingers around the slat of the headboard. “Good? Shoulder okay?”

 

Derek shifts slightly to adjust his right arm underneath him, and when he lifts his head, Will slides a pillow between his bicep and his ear. Derek hums appreciatively at him and gets a soft pat on his ass. Will’s hands go to his hips next, sliding up the inside of his left thigh and pushing until he bends his knee, almost twisting forward, his legs parted. 

 

He feels open and exposed and a little off-balance, tilted half on his side with most of his weight on his right arm and a little bit on his left knee, _acutely_ aware that he’s not bent far enough over for his dick to rub against the sheets. 

 

It's not one of their usual positions; they're both suckers for face-to-face fucking (though Will has the occasional penchant for asking to be bent over the nearest surface and _reamed_ when he's in a certain sort of mood), and Derek almost opens his mouth to ask about it. Even with his eyes covered, he thinks he wants to know where Will’s face is. 

 

But Will knows him, always, always knows him. The hard, hot warmth of Will’s body spoons up behind him, his chest against Derek’s back and his lips against Derek’s neck and his dick, hard and thick and _hot_ , even wrapped in latex and slick with lube, brushing against him. “Hey,” he murmurs. “It’ll be good. Trust me.”

 

Derek takes a breath. Holds it, counts to three, lets it out, slow. “I trust you,” he whispers. 

 

Will kisses his shoulder, puts his hand on Derek's hip. His other hand snakes around him, tucking under his neck and pressing against his heart. “Give me a color, baby.”

 

“Green,” Derek breathes. He rolls his hips back against the press of Will’s cock, hears him groan. “Want you, Will. Please.”

 

“Yeah, love,” Will says, his voice thick and strained, and _fuck_ , Derek knows that voice, that's his trying-not-to-come voice, _God_. They're both so far fucking gone. 

 

He doesn't have time to think any more about it, though, because Will’s hand leaves his hip and then Will’s guiding himself against him, the head of his dick pushing forward. Derek whimpers, holding himself still, and Will kisses his neck. “Good, baby, so good, stay nice and still for me, sweetheart.”

 

Derek hears himself whimper again at the endearment, but he doesn't move. He clenches his right hand into a fist and clutches the headboard with his left hand and just _feels_ , his body erupting into sensation as Will presses in and in and _in_. It feels like it goes on forever, filling him up and overwhelming him and _oh_ , he never wants it to end. 

 

When Will’s hips are flush against the curve of his ass, he hears Will take a shuddering breath, squeezing his arm tight around Derek’s waist. “Color, sweetheart,” he rasps. 

 

“Green, baby,” Derek whispers. He squeezes his eyes shut behind the fabric of the blindfold. He can feel his heartbeat in his dick. “Will, _please_.”

 

“ _Fuck,_ ” Will groans. He pulls back, just his hips, his chest still pressed tight to Derek's back. 

 

And then he slides back home, and Derek's whole body ignites. Fuck, _fuck_ , he gets it now, why Will chose this position--he sets a even pace, not hard or fast but steady and _deep_ , and the angle is _perfect,_ hitting Derek’s prostate on every thrust. 

 

He opens his mouth but can't even find the breath to moan, just turns his face into his arm and gasps. Will has always been able to play his body like a fucking instrument, coaxing him into song, but everything feels heightened now, the lack of sight and his bound hands throwing all his nerves into overdrive. 

 

He’s an orchestra, and Will’s the maestro, playing a fucking symphony on his body. 

 

“Fuck,” Will gasps in his ear as he moves. He’s breathless, his voice tight. “Fuck, that’s beautiful. You feel so good, sweetheart. You take it so well, open up for me so sweet, so fucking hot, Derek. Can feel how tight you are, how much you wanna move, how much you want this.”

 

He’s rambling, the way he does when he’s too far gone to think about what’s coming out of his mouth. Derek moans, fighting every instinct in his body that tells him to grind his hips back or thrust his dick down against the sheets to get some friction, and Will licks his neck, bites the wet spot, kisses the bite. 

 

“You’re so good, baby,” Will breathes. His hand leaves Derek’s hip and then lands on his wrist, pulling Derek’s hand away from the headboard and lacing their fingers together. Derek latches on like it’s a lifeline, clenching hard. “Want you to come for me, sweetheart, just like this.”

 

“I can’t,” Derek chokes. God, he’s so fucking--it’s so much, Will’s lighting him up, every thrust sending light and fire spiraling out from his spine, but he’s never--he’s never-- “I can’t, baby, I can’t, need you to touch me, please, Will, fuck, please touch me--”

 

He knows he’s babbling, frantic and desperate, his fingers locked tight around Will’s. Will doesn’t slow his thrusts, but doesn’t touch him, either. “You can, baby,” he says, somehow both soothing and firm. “I fucking know you can, babe, I’ve seen you get so close, you just need to let go.”

 

“I _can’t_ ,” Derek insists, his voice breaking. Fuck, he’s so hard, he’s leaking _everywhere_ , everything’s coiled so tight inside him, but he needs a hand on him, some friction, _something_. “Baby, baby, please.”

 

Will kisses his shoulder, his neck. “You can do this,” he whispers. “If you wanna tell me red or jasmine, you can, baby, you always can, but I can feel how close you are, sweetheart.” 

 

He thrusts in again, that sweet, sweet pressure so deep inside him, building, building, and Derek _shudders_ , his whole body tightening. Will groans. “God, babe, there it is, I can feel it. Fuck, I’m holding on by my fucking _fingernails_ , gonna come so hard when you do. Come on, love, you can do it.” 

 

Another press of lips to his shoulder, another hard thrust. Derek squeezes his eyes shut tighter, tears spilling hot over his cheeks. He chokes back a sob, he’s _so close_. “Baby, _come for me_.”

 

One more thrust, and the coil inside him that’s been tightening and tightening and tightening finally _snaps_. He comes with a sob of Will’s name, the orgasm coursing through him in a tidal wave of sensation, coming and coming and coming, longer and harder than he ever has in his life. 

 

He’s distantly aware of Will pushing into him one more time and going still, groaning his name and shuddering, but it’s far away, like a dream. 

 

Derek barely registers it--his mind is floating, his body disconnected from it, sinking deepdeep _deep_. He did everything Will wanted, he was good, he did everything right, everything is warm and soft and _good_. He floats on sensation, on the aftershocks trembling through his body, on the syrup-sweet haze of his mind. 

 

Eventually, Will’s voice brings him back, and he’s not sure quite how long it takes--a while, he thinks, based on the slight tingling in his fingers and toes. 

 

“...so fucking beautiful, Derek,” Will’s whispering, his voice soft in against Derek’s ear, one hand stroking over his side. His touch is firm, grounding, his palm warm and gentle. “You were so perfect. You did so well, sweetheart. I love you so fucking much, I’m so fucking proud of you, baby, you’re--”

 

“Will?” Derek mumbles, and Will’s hand stills.

 

“Derek?” He sounds almost nervous. That’s strange. “You back with me, sweetheart?”

 

“Uh-huh.” One of Will’s hands is still in his, and Derek squeezes his fingers as much as he can. He thinks his own might be shaking. “’m here.

 

Will presses a kiss to his shoulder. “Hi, baby.” Derek wiggles his hips a little in acknowledgment. He realizes, belatedly, that Will must have pulled out while he was still totally out of it. He doesn’t really mind that he missed it; that’s not exactly his favorite part, but he does feel weirdly empty now. “Are you okay?”

 

“Uh-huh.” He tilts his head back, nuzzling against Will’s chin, and hears a soft chuckle. 

 

“What’d’you want first? Hands or eyes?”

 

“Hands,” Derek says, feeling like he’s slurring a little, his tongue a little thick in his mouth. His nose feels a little stuffy, his face wet, and he wonders how much he cried. 

 

Will kisses him softly, his hands moving soothing and gentle as he unties Derek’s wrists and then maneuvers him gently into his arms. Derek hums happily and goes willingly, curling into his chest. 

 

He lets Will manhandle him for a little while, rubbing his wrists gently where the rope had pressed into his skin and reaching back to massage his shoulders and the base of his neck, where he always holds the most tension. Will moves to his face next, kissing his damp cheeks and brushing his thumbs over what Derek guesses must be tear tracks, his touch gentle and sure. 

 

He feels loose and warm and happy, and when Will finally wraps him into a hug, Derek twines his arms around him, hooking one leg around his hips as well for good measure and getting a soft laugh in his ear in response. “Hi,” he mumbles into Will’s chest. 

 

“Hi,” Will says, his voice impossibly fond. His lips press against Derek’s forehead, between the top of the blindfold and the sweaty mess of his hair. “You ready to drink something for me, babe?”

 

Derek shakes his head. “Not yet. Wanna stay here.”

 

Will tightens his arms around him. “Okay. Whatever you need.” One of Will’s hands leaves him and he hears the tissue box on the desk rustle, and then Will is gently wiping down his chest and stomach. The touch leaves him again, and he hears the tissues moving over the sheets, then the sound of them falling into the trash can, and then Will’s arms are around him again. He presses a kiss to the top of his head.

 

“You did so well, Derek,” Will murmurs, and a pleased shiver goes through Derek’s spine. He snuggles closer to Will’s warmth. “You were so good. Absolutely perfect.”

 

Derek smiles, a little bashful, even though he knows Will can't see it. “Yeah?”

 

Long fingers slip under his chin and tilt his head up. “Yeah,” Will says softly, and then there are lips on his, gentle and sweet and so full of feeling that Derek’s heart leaps and flutters in his chest. 

 

He's a little breathless when they part, and suddenly desperate to see Will’s face, to look him in the eyes. “Blindfold?” he asks, quietly. 

 

Will kisses his forehead. “Just a sec.” He leans away for a moment and Derek hears the click of his desk lamp, and then Will says, “Are your eyes closed?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Okay. Keep them that way.” A warm hand slips under the fabric of the blindfold, curving over his eyelids, and then the blindfold peels away, the band tugging briefly on his curls--“shit, sorry,” Will says, a sheepish laugh in his voice--before Will’s free arm settles around his waist again. “Ready for me to take my hand away?”

 

Part of him thinks he could stay like this forever, but he really wants to see Will’s face. “Uh-huh.”

 

Will moves his hand, and Derek waits a few seconds for the tingling in his eyelids to fade before he opens his eyes. 

 

The room is softly lit, and he’s glad he never turns on the awful overhead lights--when Will turned off his desk lamp, it left just the stand lamp in the corner and the string lights over his window, and the light in the room is gentle and warm. He still has to blink a few times for his eyes to adjust, but it doesn’t hurt at all. 

 

And then he looks up at Will, and catches his breath. He looks incredible, flushed and bright-eyed, his hair a red-gold, sweaty mess, and he’s looking back at Derek with so much warmth that it puts a lump in Derek’s throat. 

 

“Hi,” Derek whispers, and Will smiles.

 

“Hi,” he says back. He curls a hand around Derek’s jaw and tilts his face up to kiss him, and Derek closes his eyes, leaning into the gentle sweetness of it. “You here with me?”

 

“Yeah.” He smiles. “That was…” He searches for the right words and can’t find them, and settles for just resting his forehead against Will’s. “Thank you.”

 

Will tightens his arms around him. “You were amazing,” he murmurs. He ducks his head and kisses Derek’s cheek. “You feel okay?”

 

Derek nods. “So good, baby,” he says, and means it. There wasn’t a single fucking moment when he felt anything other than safe and warm and wanted. He turns his head into the crook of Will’s neck and presses a kiss there, right where he can feel Will’s pulse under his lips. “You were right about...all the extra asking. I think it helped. I felt really...really safe.”

 

“Good. That’s what I wanted.” Will leans away from him for a moment, and Derek hears the zipper on his backpack. He frowns a little in confusion, but then Will comes back. “Sit up for me, babe.” 

 

Derek opens his eyes again, and Will wags a bottle of Powerade at him. He raises his eyebrows. “You brought that?”

 

“I believe in being prepared,” Will says with a grin. 

 

“Now who’s presumptuous,” Derek chirps, and Will snorts.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” he says. “C’mon, come here.” He scoots back against the headboard and motions for Derek, and Derek follows, a little sluggishly--his limbs still feel heavy and soft, not quite responsive. Will opens the bottle and then wraps an arm around Derek’s shoulders when Derek curls into his side, then helps him take a few short sips. “Slow,” he cautions.

 

“I know.” Derek closes his eyes, savoring the sweetness on his tongue, letting the sugar and electrolytes put a little life back into his body. It wakes him up a little, clears some of the clouds from his mind without totally taking away the warm softness he wants to cling to a little longer. 

 

When he’s had about half the bottle, he gently pushes Will’s wrist away, and Will puts it on the desk, screwing the cap on one-handed while Derek drops his head onto his shoulder and watches him through half-lidded eyes. Will looks down at him with a soft smile. “Hi, babe.”

 

Derek smiles up at him. “Hi.” He nuzzles his stubble against Will’s shoulder. 

 

“How are you feeling?”

 

“Amazing. You?”

 

“Incredible.” Will grins, pushing a hand through his sweaty hair, which just makes it stand up more, like some kind of fiery halo, and shit, Derek’s post-orgasm high inner monologue is almost as bad as his regular high inner monologue. 

 

Whatever. His boyfriend is beautiful, and says he loves him, and--

 

_Oh_.

 

“Nursey?” Will frowns. “You’re making a face, babe. Are you okay?”

 

Derek pushes himself out of Will’s arms, sitting up so that he can look at him properly. Will looks back at him, brow furrowed in something bordering on concern. “Um,” Derek says, because now he’s a little uncertain--he was still pretty out of it, but he’s almost sure that he heard… “Did you...When we were…” He takes a breath. “You said you love me.”

 

Will’s lips part, and he flushes under his freckles. “Uh,” he says. “You heard that?”

 

Derek nods. He can feel his heart pounding. “Did you mean it?” He hates how small his voice sounds. “I mean--I know sometimes stuff just slips out, like, during sex, or right after sex, and--it’s okay if you don’t, I just--”

 

“ _Derek_.” Derek shuts his mouth, biting his lower lip, but Will just reaches for him, his expression open and a little vulnerable. “Come here?” 

 

It takes a moment of maneuvering on the small bed, Will moving away from the edge, but Derek slips into his lap, straddling his hips so that Will can wrap his arms around his waist. For a moment, Will doesn’t say anything, just holds him quietly, but then he says, softly, “I meant it. I mean, I--I mean it.”

 

He swallows visibly, his throat moving, and then he looks up at Derek, his eyes open and unsure. “I’ve wanted to say it for awhile, but I kept waiting for the perfect moment. But you just--god, you looked so beautiful, and I was so _proud_ of you, and I just felt so fucking _much_ , and I...I guess it just kind of...slipped out.” He hesitates. “Is it okay?”

 

Derek stares at him, not quite sure what to say, because _William Poindexter, you absolute fucking idiot, I’ve been in love with you forever_ seems like the wrong approach. He takes a deep breath and gently, carefully, cups Will’s face in his hands, leaning down to kiss him. Will kisses him back, matching his pressure--soft, easy, sweet.

 

When he pulls away, Will’s eyes are closed. He blinks them open slowly, and looks up at him, licking his bottom lip. Derek has always found him beautiful. “Derek?” he whispers.

 

Derek leans their foreheads together, smiling so hard his face hurts, and murmurs, “Green.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: Offscreen mentions of accidentally failing to honor a safeword during a scene, impact play, humiliation play, and pornography. Onscreen use bondage, including blindfolding. All consent is enthusiastic and meaningful, and all the scenes in this chapter are (finally!) appropriately negotiated beforehand.
> 
> -
> 
> Y'all. If someone had asked me back in September if I thought I was going to write almost 55k worth of Nursey/Dex kink exploration, there would have been laughter. AND YET. HERE WE ARE. Writing this has been so much fun, and I'm sad to see it end. The feedback you have all left has been absolutely _amazing_ \--thank you so, so, so much to everyone who left comments and kudos. 
> 
> There are approximately a billion more fics in the pipeline because I have--as you may have noticed--approximately zero self-control. They range from fluffy as shit to holy-fuck-that-might-actually-be-too-angsty-to-post, so we'll see. 
> 
> You can always hit me up on tumblr for fic prompts, questions feels, or just pictures of my dog: @geniusorinsanity. 
> 
> <3


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